


Concealed Weapons and Other Trade Secrets

by whizzy



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bodyguard, Comic Elements, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whizzy/pseuds/whizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony could get used to this VIP treatment, especially when it included one handsome, blond, and rather accommodating bodyguard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zombietonbo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Zombietonbo).



> Written for the 2014 Cap/Iron Man reverse bang. Zombietonbo requested a [non-powered AU, bodyguard style](http://zombietonbo.tumblr.com/post/88196677542/my-part-of-the-capironman-rbb-2014-art).
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> [](http://37.media.tumblr.com/ad0a9ee8f59792841b575ed5b329c9ed/tumblr_n6v6g5WiV31r78vvlo1_1280.jpg)  
> [](http://24.media.tumblr.com/409fe4d44afedecb977cb766673c5cb6/tumblr_n6v6g5WiV31r78vvlo2_1280.png)  
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> This story threw me for a loop, and I've had a lot of fun tackling it. Plus, it was a chance to write for a fabulous fan artist whose work never fails to cheer me up. Seriously, they're amazing!
> 
> Comic elements borrowed from the story [One Night in Madripoor](http://www.comicbookresources.com/?page=preview&id=12772) and [elsewhere](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Secret_Empire).
> 
> This is yet another example of my inability to do short and tropey, compounded by RL issues that put me way behind schedule. The last chapter will be up soon. Many thanks to Zombietonbo for patience above and beyond. (And after I warned you that I wanted to bang up one character, I went and did the other instead. Oops!) Thanks also to Elenothar and MemoryDragon for giving me the beta smackdown I needed.

"That's me." Tony pointed to a sign that read: _Anthony Stark, Stane Enterprises._

The man holding the sign stood blond head and linebacker's shoulders taller than his fellow chauffeurs. Expat probably, one of those guys who spoke six languages if his agency catered to Hightown's business elite. His expression remained neutral as he appraised Tony in a single glance.

Tony had chosen comfort for the long flight, old jeans and a hoodie. He knew he looked like he belonged on the graveyard shift in a lab with rattling air ducts and bad lighting, not flying first-class and riding in limousines. "Er... do you need to see ID or something?"

"That won't be necessary. Welcome to Madripoor, Mr Stark." The chauffeur folded his sign and stashed it in his uniform pocket. "A photograph was included with your itinerary. May I take your bag?"

Tony hesitated. The carry-on contained everything he would need to make his MDTECON presentation. Losing it wouldn't be a disaster, but it would be highly inconvenient. "Maybe _I_ should see some ID."

"No problem at all, sir." Blondie whipped out his wallet and held it for Tony to inspect his license and employee badge. "Roger Smith of Asset Logistics Management, at your service. My company was contracted to provide you with transportation, assistance, and security for the duration of your stay."

"You're a bodyguard." Had that sounded surprised? He shouldn't have sounded surprised. Surprise could imply there'd been a mistake, and one phone call could end the VIP treatment before Tony had a chance to enjoy it.

"I am." Smith plowed ahead, "Allowing for customs and traffic, it could be a couple hours before we reach the hotel. If you wish to freshen up or grab a bite to eat, I suggest you do so now."

"I'm fine," Tony said, as the guy nearly wrestled away his laptop case.

"Then if you'll follow me please, sir." It was not a request, and Tony had to jog the first few steps to catch up before Smith could lose him in the crowd.

So far, the reality of having his very own bodyguard was not living up to the hype.

 

~~~~~

 

The car was okay, Tony supposed. More of an upscale SUV than a limo, it didn't have the crazy amenities he'd hoped to see. It was probably bulletproof.

Smith's driving at least left nothing to be desired. Smooth turns and braking, and very few hit potholes. Despite being intrigued by the color saturated cityscape crawling by outside, Tony caught himself nodding off more than once. The last time couldn't have been more than five minutes, but he blinked awake in a parking garage, Smith rapping at his window.

"Jetlag," Tony mumbled as he crawled out of the vehicle and straight into a luxurious stretch. His spine popped loudly enough to earn him a look.

"Perhaps you'd care for a massage." Smith lifted Tony's luggage from the back as if it weighed next to nothing.

Tony tried not to look too hopeful. "Really, that's one of the, ah, services you provide?"

"The Sovereign is a world-class hotel. I understand they have an excellent masseuse on staff."

"Oh, oh right." The first-class flight, luxury SUV, an attractive bodyguard, and now a world-class hotel, naturally. "Is that safe, though? I mean, in spy thrillers it's hotel staff or the next door neighbor or the delivery boy who turns out to be the first assassin."

"If it would ease your-" Unfounded and somewhat ridiculous went unsaid. "- _concerns_ , I could remain in attendance during your session."

"That was a joke," Tony said. An attempt to cover up his little gaffe. "And you went and made it all weird."

"My apologies. This way, sir."

"Wait-"

Smith was either naturally zen or had acquired that placid expression through long and painful experience. Or drugs, maybe drugs. "Yes?"

Tony should probably admit to being a phony VIP. The longer he waited, the more awkward it could be when the truth came out. Still... it wouldn't hurt anything to see his room first, would it? "Sorry, never mind."

"It's no trouble, sir. This way?"

 

~~~~~

 

Tony changed his mind about coming clean when he saw the suite Ms Potts had booked on the corporate account. It wasn't the penthouse but it was damned close, room after room of plush, toe-wriggling carpet and crisp white linens. Home theater system. A full kitchen. His own sauna.

Smith noticed Tony's inspection and made a show of doing his own sweep before moving Tony's luggage to the main bedroom. He'd carried it up himself -- to the apparent relief of the bellhop, who must have figured Tony's clothes and ironically vintage suitcases into the odds of a decent tip.

Speaking of tips, this was the part where Smith might expect one, unless he intended to hang around. "So. How does this-" Tony gestured vaguely. _Work?_

"Sir?"

"I appreciate that you didn't kick me out at the curb."

Smith frowned.

"Kidding, I'm- It's a thing I do. Not very well, I've been told."

Still with the frowning, but now also waiting for the real punch line, it seemed.

 _Hm, how about..._ "I'd like to finish getting settled first, but how will I contact you if I decide to go out later? Should I expect you, or could it be someone else from your agency?"

Smith pulled out a pair of business cards and laid them on a dresser -- the extra no doubt anticipating Tony losing the first. He explained like he was reading the sales pitch straight from a brochure, "ALM agents strive for personalized service and strong client rapport. It helps me do my job if I'm a familiar face."

"Makes sense," Tony said. It sounded like a load of ego-stroking crap, but whatever.

"You have one agent assigned to your detail: myself. Likewise, I am assigned only to your detail. My attention is exclusively yours for the next four days. Sir."

"Great," Tony said. That answered that.

Smith wasn't finished, though. "I am available to you twenty-four seven. I go where you go, I sleep when you sleep-"

He was welcome to try adopting Tony's sleep schedule. Countless mere mortals had tried and failed. "If I go take a nap, does that mean you conk out on the couch?"

"Negative. Protocol dictates that until I have been dismissed for the night, I remain alert and responsive. I can either do that here, as unobtrusively as possible, or I can wait down in the car. It's your choice."

Yeah, Tony was pretty sure that, by now, Smith was hoping he'd pick the latter. He was shaping up to be _that_ smartass, the one despised by every person who'd ever worked in the service industry. "No, no, it's fine. You can stay here. More leg room."

Smith raised an eyebrow at him.

Tony didn't say, _I'd kind of prefer the company._ He also didn't say, _I'm not your typical client._ "I'm not big on protocol. Sit down, kick your feet up, turn on the TV. Make yourself some coffee, grab a snack. It'll be like I'm a freshman again, only with a more attractive and hygienic roommate. Can I call you Reggie?"

"Er-"

"Done. And you're not allowed to call me 'sir' anymore. I bet I'm younger than you."

"Four years," Smith admitted.

Tony knew that. It was the second thing he'd checked on Smith's license. "Wait a minute. SE sent you guys my stats?"

A junior engineer just didn't rate the red carpet treatment. Tony suspected that, when he'd been tapped to take over MDTECON, someone had simply changed the name on travel arrangements made months prior. But maybe it wasn't an oversight. He _was_ representing SE in President Stane's place, and the company did have an image to maintain.

Maybe Tony should have pressed for details instead of giving in to the repeated assurance that everything was being handled for him.

Smith had the wary look of someone who was about to cop to something they knew they shouldn't. "Unfortunately, we did not receive a full profile as requested from Stane Enterprises -- I have to assume due to the last-minute change of plans."

"Shit, you didn't. You internet stalked me?"

"Only what was publicly available," Smith said. "Which reminds me, do you have any food allergies or medical conditions I should be aware of?"

"That depends. Do you have any concealed weapons to declare?"

"Please, Mr Stark. I'm serious."

"So am I. Inquiring minds want to know."

 

~~~~~

 

Tony did some basic unpacking, then rewarded himself with what was supposed to be a power nap. He woke up in a dark room, splayed across a huge bed that wasn't his, his cheek mashed into a drool-soaked pillow.

Classy.

It was probably too late to check in at the convention center. Oh well, he'd shoot them an e-mail to let them know he'd arrived, pick up his badge and crap in the morning. His Friday schedule was open; the presentation wasn't until Saturday, 8 a.m. Somewhere in there was a dinner he'd be expected to attend, but he was already working on his excuse.

He found Smith parked in the breakfast nook off the kitchen, posture at odds with an ultra modern stool.

"Evening." Smith closed his book.

"Don't get up on my account." The book was in German of all things, some kind of technical manual. "A little light reading?" Tony asked. Shoot, that would have been a good place to work in another Reggie, and he'd missed it.

"Wouldn't call it light." Smith got up anyway and led toward the kitchen. "It's after nine. Are you hungry?"

"Very. Are you?"

"The room service here can accommodate almost any request, unless you wish to dine out?"

"If I take you out, are you going to sit there like a creeper and watch me eat?"

Smith clearly wasn't enamored with Tony's knack for leaving him stuck without a ready answer.

"No room service," Tony said, "but I don't want to get dressed up either."

"The hotel offers in-suite meal preparation for guests traveling without their own personal chef. Shall I-"

"Can you cook?"

Smith considered. "I live alone, and I manage to keep myself fed."

"Okay," Tony rubbed his hands together, "there's our plan."

"Mr Stark-"

"Tony."

"I do think you'd be happier with room service."

Shit no, not when Tony could argue the room charge, but he'd probably be stuck paying any additional hotel fees out of pocket. "You and me, grocery store, come on."

Smith leaned on the last syllable like a soldier taking orders: "Yes _sir._ "

Ha ha, real cute.

Five minutes of delayed reaction later, Tony's lizard hindbrain perked up and said, _Actually..._

 

~~~~~

 

Tony put Smith in charge of ingredient selection and sat back to watch the show. It turned the shopping excursion into a surgical strike; within thirty minutes they were back at the hotel with two bags and not a single microwavable anything.

Standing in the kitchen while he planned out the next phase of the operation, Smith idly shed his uniform coat. The shoulder holster was less of a revelation than a point for Tony on the imaginary scoreboard he just now decided to start keeping. He added a second point right away for the shoulders themselves... and what the hell, a third point for Smith's unfairly tight white undershirt.

"Let me know if I can help you with anything," Tony said. _Any_ thing, offer not limited to the kitchen.

Smith grabbed a cutting board and reached for the largest knife in the block. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary."

"Can I watch?" _Come on, say it. Say 'like a creeper'._

The knife cleaved a head of cabbage in half with one blow, missing Smith's knuckles by millimeters. "Do as you wish."

Tony wished. "This is nice. I can't remember the last time someone made a home-cooked meal for me."

Some of the innate stiffness left Smith's posture; the next cuts were less forceful. "You live alone too?"

"Mmhm, have ever since my parents died -- save one unfortunate semester."

"Sorry to hear that."

"I'm not in a relationship, if that's your next question."

"It wasn't going to be, no," Smith said. "Not my business."

"Not exactly a secret to anyone who's found my social media accounts."

Smith refused to bite at that one.

"How about you?"

"Married to the job." Smith threw a bunch of stuff in a hot pan, and almost wiped his hands on his slacks before he caught himself and moved for the sink. "Long, unpredictable hours, lots of travel..."

"Pay's decent though, right?" Tony said.

Or not. Smith actually laughed, and continued chuckling to himself long after the humor of the moment should have worn off.

 

~~~~~

 

It was strange to be alone in the suite after Smith's dismissal for the night. Shortly after his parents' funeral, Tony had gone on a binge of inappropriate and puerile behavior. Part of it had been the sudden absence of parental oversight in his life. The rest had been him nursing the delusion that his new independence conferred on him the right to do whatever the fuck he wanted. He might have trashed the house if it hadn't been sold to settle the estate; he _would_ have flunked out of college if not for the tireless efforts of a hidden benefactor.

Alone in an unfamiliar city -- and shoved without warning or preparation into a major professional responsibility -- Tony wasn't surprised that some of the old impulses would resurface. He wasn't going to, but he could throw his own party: crank some music, raid the bar, knock over some lamps. Stand on the balcony in a bath towel and serenade the neighborhood.

He showered and crawled into bed with his laptop, both pleased and disappointed that he'd made the responsible choice.

The next morning, Smith arrived in time to procure breakfast before driving Tony to the convention center. He'd switched from his chauffeur's uniform to a sedate but decent suit, making his tag-along presence feel more ordinary. Tony introduced him to the convention organizers as his assistant -- which had the unintended consequence of Smith running with the role like he knew what the hell he was doing.

Scratch that. He knew exactly what he was doing. Soon Tony was sidelined in conversations about schedules and room preparation and tech requirements. Then he gave up listening in to correct Smith's mistakes when it became obvious that the man wasn't making any.

"Want to do my presentation for me, too?" Tony asked, once they'd been released into the general convention populace.

"No, thank you," Smith said.

"You didn't write any of that down. Aren't assistants supposed to-"

"It's memorized."

"But-"

Leaning closer as they walked, Smith murmured, "Let's just say I have practice keeping track of details without leaving an incriminating trail."

"There's discretion and then there's paranoia."

"Lives hang in the balance in my line of work. I can never be too... discreet."

"Not my life," Tony said. "You must have figured out by now that I'm not-"

"Conspicuous enough to have enemies?"

No. Well, yes. "That too."

"Don't sell yourself short. Anyone with an invitation to speak at an exclusive defense tech convention has a few enemies somewhere. Half the _attendees_ are being escorted by protection, in case you hadn't noticed."

"You mean all the ripped people running around in earpieces, sunglasses, and kevlar?" Tony grinned. "I thought those were cosplayers."

 

~~~~~

 

Tony wasn't under orders to sit in on any of the other presentations, but he took in a few anyway. It was probably one of those networking opportunities he was always hearing about, plus a chance to see if the competition had anything interesting in development.

Not that he claimed to know what SE had in development at any given moment. He was a components man, a medic for faulty bits and parts isolated from their surrounding systems. He rarely had access to the big picture; in fact, it was better that he didn't. Too many toes to step on by questioning design decisions that were way above his pay grade -- and set in stone long before they reached his department.

Tony remained seated when the Wai-Go Industries presentation ended with a round of applause. The lights came up in the hall, and he noticed that, once again, he and Smith were among the youngest and least influential looking members of the audience.

"Well?" Smith asked. It wasn't his way of saying _Ready to go?_ or _Aren't you bored yet?_ He seemed honestly interested in Tony's opinion.

"Zero for three."

"What was wrong with that one?"

Kronas Corp's presentation had been a conservative rehash, nothing new. Hammer's had been smoke and mirrors; they had fuck all and knew it. As for Wai-Go... "Too many acronyms," Tony decided.

"Comes with the territory."

"I suppose you know all about the defense industry."

"I haven't always been a bodyguard," Smith said.

Military. Made sense. "What unit?"

Smith shook his head.

"Branch?"

"Nope, sorry."

"Fine, fine." There were ways of finding out if Tony really wanted to know. "They don't have the power requirements figured out. It's like that joke about step one and step two, then step three is a row of question marks and step four is _profit!_ They tried to disguise step three with a whole bunch of acronyms and tech jargon, but I don't buy it."

"Looks like a lot of the audience did." Smith nodded to the foot of the stage, where a small crowd was gathering for an informal Q&A with the speaker.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Suckers." He wasn't growing bored so much as antsy. Tense. This had been the final presentation for the day, and his was scheduled first thing in the morning. Despite the subterfuge, Wai-Go had given a slick performance, very assured and professional. A tough act to follow.

It might be time to return to the Sovereign for some practice and minor crisis of confidence.

 

~~~~~

 

"Reggie, I was thinking..."

"Sounds dangerous," Smith called from the front room.

"Can you stay the night? Here, I mean. In the suite." There wasn't an immediate answer. Which... right, Tony hadn't expected one. He began to lay out his argument. "I'd like an audience to practice on. You wouldn't need to pay attention, or even pretend to pay attention. Just, you know, be present in the bodily sense. We could order way too much food from one of those hole in the wall local joints-"

Smith appeared in the doorway. "I can stay."

"Changing here." Tony was finished with the shirt but was between pairs of pants. "I didn't hear a knock."

"Door was wide open." Smith kept his gaze above Tony's waist, but that was the only concession he made for modesty. "Besides, nothing I haven't seen a hundred times before."

Tony thought he had nice legs, or at least better than average. It was just a shame they hadn't seen much sun in the last, oh, sixteen months or so. "I think I've been insulted."

"I'll stay," Smith repeated.

"Thanks." Tony turned away to pull up his jeans, arranging his junk for comfort before doing up his fly. One final shimmy and he looked up and straight at Smith's reflection, watching him candidly from the mirrored closet door.

Dilemma: should he say something or was this a never mention it again situation? Which would be more awkward, a stupid joke or a bad pick-up line? Ooh, maybe a combination of the two.

Smith wasn't giving him anything to work with, just silence and an almost presumptuous expression.

No mention it was. "I need to set up, if you can handle dinner and drinks. And by drinks I mean alcoholic and not something hideously expensive from the minibar."

"On it." Smith supplanted whatever he'd been thinking with the faintest frown as he turned to go.

 

~~~~~

 

Smith had left the suite by the time Tony emerged with his laptop. In truth there wasn't much setup to do. He read over his cue cards for the twentieth time, scribbling a note here and there. At least he was hawking a project he'd actually worked on, even if it had been just an IR sensor array. SE was supposed to have functioning test models, but if there had been any live fire trials he hadn't seen the footage. It was possible that he never would.

Smith returned about twenty minutes later, humming as he let himself in. He had a bulging plastic take-out bag, a black duffel on his shoulder, and a bottle clamped beneath his arm. "Mission accomplished."

"Did you get one of everything on the menu?"

"Wasn't sure what you liked." Smith noticed Tony eyeing the duffel. "Overnight bag. I keep it in the car for just such an occasion."

Occasion, huh? It probably was more common than Tony realized for a bodyguard to spend the night away from home while on assignment. "And the booze?"

Smith put some wicked spin on the bottle when he underhand-tossed it to Tony, like a football. "Something hideously expensive from the car's minibar I thought you should try."

"Uh-"

"My treat, don't worry about it."

Tony unpacked dinner all over the coffee table. Screw plates, he was eating out of the cartons. "Thanks. I like this looser you," he said without thinking.

Again with that slight, almost puzzled, frown.

"Wait. I wasn't implying anything about your, I don't know, professional conduct or whatever."

"I know," Smith said.

"I'm just a long way from home... and you usually have this formidable thing going, and you must have expectations about me as a client that I'm not meeting..."

"It's okay," Smith said. "Every client requires a different approach, it just took me a while to figure out yours. And since we're being honest..."

_We are?_

"I don't get many opportunities to loosen up on assignment. I'm enjoying it while I can."

Tony pointed at him. "That sounds like a toast. We're going to toast to that."

"I shouldn't. Relaxed or not, I am on duty."

"Wrong. _You_ are dismissed for the evening." Asking Smith to stay the night for no real reason had been kind of an asshole move. _How's that for honesty?_ "Only please hang around long enough to do the audience thing because I could really use the practice."

Smith shrugged and began to roll up his sleeves. He'd already ditched his tie somewhere and loosened a few shirt buttons. "Guess I'll get the glasses."

This was good, this was great. Tony just had to make it through a couple hours without blurting something about how he'd failed in their moment of honesty to mention that he was still fantasizing about getting laid tonight.

Thank fuck he needed to stay sober for the big morning.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony ran through his whole presentation once, then several times doing just the speaking part. It too had been intended for President Stane, tailored to his speech pattern and weighty yet genial public persona. Tony still found it difficult to deliver some of the lines with a straight face, but he'd been forbidden to alter a single word.

Smith was a better test audience than the denizens of Tony's department, free with his suggestions and critical where Tony needed him to be. The prolonged and very focused attention made Tony increasingly self-conscious as the night wore on, until Smith took pity on his flagging performance and had them trade places for a turn. Smith read cards while Tony was supposed to be noting things like cadence and body language, but instead got hung up on how weirdly pretty Smith's eyelashes were.

He stayed put when Smith returned to the sofa, and they sat together in silence, picking through cold food cartons for an after-midnight snack.

"Done?" Smith finally asked, corralling their trash.

"Yeah." Tony had already risked straining his voice going on as long as he had. "If I crash now I can still squeeze in a few hours of sleep. Are you-"

"I'll wake you at five with a pot of coffee on standby."

 _Staying? Guess so._ "You're an angel."

"Any other instructions?"

Tony cleared his throat. "That should cover it. I'll just-" _Be in the bedroom, if you, you know..._

"Good night Anthony."

If only it was so easy. Tony knew as soon as his head hit the pillow that it was a stare at the ceiling kind of night. The lights had gone down in the outer suite before Tony left his bathroom. He listened to Smith moving cautiously through his own bedtime routine, but that distraction lasted only a few minutes.

What the hell was he even doing? MDTECON amounted to a high-stakes marketing gig; there were dozens of SE employees more qualified and with better industry name recognition that Tony. Sure, he was being billed as the son of the company's founder, but in reality that meant fuck all.

It _might_ be a test. President Stane had taken particular interest in Tony in the past... from a distance, and never acknowledging that he'd been the benefactor behind Tony receiving undeserved second (and third and fourth) chances during his precarious academic career.

SE was a different story, though. Tony had been made to earn the job, beginning with a long probationary period. He assumed that he was reasonably competent at what he did; he'd received satisfactory marks in most areas on his last evaluation. At any rate, he'd never shown an interest in moving up the corporate ladder, so it was unlikely that he was being groomed for "bigger things".

Now, sending him to MDTECON could be a snub. President Stane's sudden inability to attend had coincided with SE missing the short list for an important regional contract...

An impression of something not-right crowded in on Tony's rambling thoughts. He froze, senses alerted, and caught a stealthy rustling sound. Whatever had made it was close, inside the room, and it was _moving_.

Burglar? Assassin?

"Reg?" Tony whispered.

"Anthony?" Smith whispered back after the space of a few pounding heartbeats.

"What are you doing?" Way over there on the wrong side of the room.

Neither of them seemed to want to be first to raise their voice. "Sorry, I thought you were asleep."

Like crawling into bed with Tony wouldn't have woken him? "I'm awake now, so get your ass over here and make it up to me," he hissed, throwing back the comforter in invitation.

 _"What?_ No-"

Tony said, "What?"

"I can't sleep with you."

"Can't?"

"You know what I mean."

"Can't is not the same as don't want to. One is like wow, thanks for the offer but you're not my type, I'll pass. The other is chickening out at the last second-"

"Anthony. Thank you for the offer, but I pass."

Tony thought he would sound angry, not... deflated. "Then why are you in my room?" His expression probably matched. Maybe he didn't want to switch on a light after all.

"I wanted a window." Smith groped in that direction until he found the heavy curtains, parting them to reveal a slice of glittering urban night.

Bullshit. He hadn't been caught near the full-length glass -- or the bed for that matter. "There're windows all over. You didn't need to come _in here_ to peep at the neighbors."

"Couldn't see over the balcony and didn't want to stand outside in my underwear." Smith beckoned, "There."

Tony slid out of bed and crept to Smith's side. "This had better be good. What am I looking at? Oh." Twenty floors above the street, it was difficult to tell how many emergency vehicles made up the cluster of flashing red lights. More than one and less than five was Tony's guess. He lost interest as soon as he realized they were stopped a couple blocks north of the hotel.

"It doesn't appear serious." Smith released the curtain and edged around Tony to leave. "I apologize for disturbing you."

 

~~~~~

 

Five a.m. came as a rude surprise. Tony didn't get the chance to come online slowly in a nice hot shower; excitement snapped him wide awake before he could even reach the snooze on his alarm. He followed the aroma of fresh coffee to the outer suite, where he discovered Smith on the balcony, of all places.

Even though there was plenty of room, Smith scooted left to make more when he heard the sliding door open behind him. He didn't turn or look back, just assumed that Tony was coming outside to join him.

The sky was just beginning to think about lightening. Tony stepped up to the railing, close enough to rub elbows with Smith and steal some of his body heat. "It's not so bad out here," he lied. He was shirtless, dressed in thin sleep pants to Smith's workout sweats.

"Give it a minute for the wind to get to you."

"Maybe it's a little nippy," Tony allowed.

"Mmhm."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Did you?" Smith asked.

"I'll live."

Nodding, Smith headed back inside.

_So that's how it's going to be._

Deprived of his windbreak, Tony stuck it out for several more minutes on pure stubbornness before scurrying for that hot shower. He ran through his presentation again over a light breakfast, while Smith pressed the lingering travel wrinkles from Tony's suit.

The dark wool number was another detail that had been settled last-minute, through a tailor referred by Ms Potts. The ensemble was flashier than Tony would have chosen -- would have been confident choosing -- for himself, but it had been hard to argue with SE footing the bill. Even if he blew the presentation he would at least look the part, upholding SE's image on the international business stage.

That thought was less comforting than it should have been.

Dressing was simple, applying the finishing touches was not. After four failed attempts to get his tie exactly straight, Tony gave up. Wandering into the main suite, he found Smith polishing dress shoes with the single minded ferocity of a parade ground veteran.

"Marines?" Tony guessed.

Smith shook his head, still refusing to give that much away.

"I'm not going up for inspection, you know. I don't need the super deluxe mirror finish that will let anyone standing near me to look down and see straight up my nostrils."

The brush in Smith's hand slowed. "No one will be looking up your nostrils, Anthony."

Did he mean that literally nobody would bother, or was that one of those indirect compliments? He could have just said, _Nice slacks, the cut really flatters your ass._

"Did the military teach you what to do with one of these?" Tony waggled the tie. "Or did bodyguard school include valet lessons on the side?"

Smith wiped his hands clean on a rag. "Don't wrinkle it, give it here."

Tony waited until Smith was up close and personal, smoothing the tie around Tony's neck and positioning the tail. "Out of curiosity... _have_ you ever slept with a client?"

The expression of focus deepened to a slight frown of concentration, and Smith fumbled the initial crossover. "Unprofessional, Anthony."

"I notice a distinct lack of denial."

"I have never slept with a client."

"But there have been offers. You've been tempted before."

"Hold still."

"I'm not mov-"

"Stop talking," Smith said, shaking out the failed first knot and starting over. His knuckles grazed Tony's throat.

Tony sucked in a slow breath. "What about former clients? I'm not suggesting- That is, tomorrow evening you're going to dump me at the airport and I'm going to get on a plane and we'll never see each other again. But _hypothetically,_ if by some bizarre chance-"

"I've never been tempted to strangle a client with their own necktie before, either."

[ ](http://37.media.tumblr.com/ad0a9ee8f59792841b575ed5b329c9ed/tumblr_n6v6g5WiV31r78vvlo1_1280.jpg)

"Wow, now who's being unprofessional, Mr Bodyguard?"

"Anthony," Smith almost begged.

When was he going to come out and just say it? _I'm not into guys_ or _It's none of your business_ or even _Having checked you out on multiple occasions, I've concluded that I wouldn't let you blow me if we were the last two people on Earth._

Oh, there was a thought. Smith using the tie to bind Tony's wrists behind his back, then pushing him down to his knees and-

"Finished."

"Yes. Well..." That was only the beginning; from there, the fantasy could progress in a dozen different ways. A veritable flow chart of future wank material.

Smith said, "No, I'm finished." He straightened the tie to his satisfaction, slowly skimming his hand down its length -- and Tony's chest -- before turning away. "You're on your own with the shoelaces."

"Fair enough," Tony mumbled. Yeah, use knotted shoelaces on the wrists, then the tie becomes a blindfold...

 

~~~~~

 

Over the next hour, Tony caught himself preening in whatever reflective surface caught his eye. The suit really commanded attention, his hair was behaving this morning, the beard was on the rakish side of scruffy, and Smith made the ultimate accessory in his understated I-could-fuck-you-up glory. The whole package gave Tony a boost of confidence that he didn't quite deserve, but was determined to milk for all it was worth.

They'd arrived at the hall early enough to set up and do a thorough equipment test. So far so good, although Tony almost would have welcomed a minor problem just to kill some extra time.

Aside from the spotlit stage, the hall was still dark. Tony couldn't see much beyond the first few rows of seats, but he knew that Smith was out there somewhere. Was it too much to imagine he could feel the man's eyes on him? Probably not. Observing from the shadows was part of the job description.

"Mr Stark?" came a voice over the speakers. The AV tech, calling down from her station. "You're all set."

Tony waved in acknowledgment and hopped off the stage. Smith met him in the wings, styrofoam coffee cup in each hand.

"When did you...?"

"During the projector test," Smith said. "It might be a little cold by now."

Caffeine was caffeine as far as Tony was concerned, especially given the night he'd had. "Thanks."

"Try not to spill it on yourself."

"You know... I was going to be fine until you said that," Tony grumbled.

Smith produced a straw and held it out to him.

"Really."

"Easier than swapping shirts in the bathroom."

Straw it was. "Voice of experience? How does that even work, with the almost inevitable size difference?"

"Not well," Smith smiled.

A demonstration might be in order, later.

Tony motioned to the empty floor. "Might want to claim your seat early. This is going to be a sell-out presentation." No, it wasn't. Hell, given a choice between sleeping in and listening to an hour long SE sales pitch this early in the morning, Tony's ass would still be in bed. He'd be lucky to have any audience at all to watch him fuck something up.

"I stay by the stage," Smith explained. "Widest range of vision, best view of potential trouble. I need to see it coming; reaction time is critical."

"Oh." That made sense, although Tony had been counting on Smith sitting front and center -- a friendly face to speak to in the crowd. Or not-crowd. _Appallingly thin scattering of spectators?_

"Anthony, you'll do fine." Smith sipped his coffee and let his gaze drift away. After a moment he added, "It'll all be over soon," in an oddly detached- no, _distracted_ manner.

He probably meant the job. He was probably thinking ahead to his next client.

Tony refused to ask.

 

~~~~~

 

How sad would it be to bribe a member of the audience to throw their shoe at Tony just for a chance to see Smith in action?

 

~~~~~

 

Tony couldn't bear to watch the audience assemble. He hid in the wings, anchored by Smith's unflinching presence. There wasn't enough room to pace, but he tried for a while anyway, until Smith cornered him and took him by the shoulders and squeezed.

"Ow. Wait, actually... could you do that again? A little to the left. My left."

"Look at me, Anthony."

The little sound Tony made, somewhere between a whimper and a groan, summed up his mood nicely.

Smith squeezed again, hands spread so that Tony could feel the indent of every finger. "You're gonna be fine," he repeated.

"You don't know that."

"You look great, you know the presentation inside and out... you're gonna knock 'em dead."

"I want that in writing. All of it. I want a guarantee-"

"No time," Smith said, shuffling them around and lining Tony up with the stage. "That was your introduction. You're up."

Tony gulped and stepped out into the spotlight. His mic went live with the flip of a switch.

At least there were people in the audience. Not many, but enough for a modest round of applause.

"Distinguished guests, esteemed colleagues..."

Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad. He hadn't frozen up or forgotten his opening lines. In fact, addressing a bank of blinding lights was better than being able to see past the edge of the stage.

"...an industry-recognized leader, whose innovative approach..."

Even President Stane would have had trouble with that line.

"...we don't intend to overtake the other guys, we're here to blow them out of the sky. I present, the latest in our Freedom line, the multi-seeker, variable launch mode Interceptor."

Technically it was a whole system, not just a missile. Or, as Smith had pointed out: _Interceptor is a missile type, not a proper name._ And Tony had had to explain: _They're doing the alphabet thing, I don't know. Hurricane was a literal disaster, never reached production. What else were they going to call the next one, Iguana? Not a lot of hardcore naturey words starting with 'I'._

_Hurricane was also a fighter plane._

_And probably much more deserving of the name than a small reconnaissance drone with an effective top speed of two miles per hour,_ Tony had said.

Next came the deluge of technical specs, fired at the audience with the speed and comprehensibility of a disclaimer squeezed into the last half second of a pharmaceutical commercial. Tony's tongue was in a knot by the time he reached the end, but he didn't need to consult his cards even once. Apparently his brain was more adept than he'd realized at capturing and regurgitating useless numbers.

Drop the lights, cue the swell of inspiring yet nationalistically neutral music.

Tony backed up, making sure he was clear of the screen. He even threw in some exaggerated arm gestures, which hopefully came across as more smarmy game show host than deranged windmill. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Interceptor."

And... roll video segment.

 

~~~~~

 

"I can't believe I did it, I pulled it off. I did pull it off, right?"

"Excellent job, Anthony. Congratulations." Smith tried to shake Tony's hand, like he was getting out of this without at least a manly shoulder slapping half-hug.

"Game show arms, too much or okay? Were you filming me? Tell me someone was filming."

"There you are."

Turning to the new voice, Tony recognized one of the handful of people who'd hung around to watch him bluff his way through an informal Q&A. "Yes, er, mister...?"

Smith drew away from Tony, noticeably stiffening.

"General Ross." Even out of uniform, there was no mistaking the expectation of deference in the general's bearing. He transferred an unlit cigar to the corner of his mouth and took Tony's hand in a brief yet crushing grip. "That was a fine show. Good to see you following in your father's footsteps."

Tony hesitated. "Thank you, sir." Was it his imagination, or was Smith trying to melt into the background?

"Learn from his mistakes and you might turn into something -- if you know what I mean."

"I-" Ross' words sank in, stopping Tony cold.

_Fuck it._

"I believe I do, sir."

"Then I look forward to seeing you on the test range in the future. Keep up the good work. Oh, and send my regards to Obadiah."

"Yes, sir," Tony said weakly.

Ross' dismissal seemed complete, but in the second before he turned to leave, he lifted his gaze over Tony's shoulder. "Soldier."

Smith answered, "Sir," like he had a stranglehold on the word and didn't want to let go.

Ross nodded once, "As you were." Then he was gone.

If Tony hadn't been holding his own breath, he might not have noticed Smith let out a long, controlled sigh. "So... Army?"

"Yes," Smith said, with that same agonizing reluctance.

Tony's curiosity vied with his distaste for the general's dig at dear old dad. "You know that guy?"

"By reputation."

"He seemed to know you."

Smith took Tony by the arm and began hustling him for the door. "We should clear the room -- they'll be setting up for the next presentation. We can talk somewhere else."

That implied there was something to talk about.

Smith waited until they reached one of the main convention thoroughfares and were absorbed into the bustle. Even then, he kept Tony close and the conversation low-key. "The general couldn't have recognized me. I never served under him, and I don't recall meeting him before today."

"It's probably none of my business," Tony said, allowing Smith a graceful exit should he need one. However, if he did bail, that alone would say something.

"It's hardly a secret," Smith said.

_Except for the part where you haven't wanted to tell me about your former career._

"So, the general knew your father."

Tony returned with a shrug, "It's hardly a secret."

 

~~~~~

 

Buoyed by success, Tony was too wound to cut the day short. It would have been a shame to leave the convention without hitting the exhibit floor proper, so he and Smith were waiting when the doors opened for the day.

Tony's experience manning the SE booth at a couple local conventions hadn't prepared him for the sheer excess that MDTECON offered. The floor was packed with slick displays assembled by companies he'd never heard of, offering everything from tactical gear to next-generation reactive armor systems that ran into the millions for a single application.

"The vendors in this room could outfit an entire army."

"It does appear that way," Smith said, looking less dazzled than Tony and more eager to get his hands on some floor models.

"I bet you could buy a tank."

"If you were willing to go bulk, you could probably get a nice bargain."

Tony rubbed his hands together. "Let's make it a bet. If you can convince someone to sell you fifty tanks, I will... treat you to a nice dinner on the town."

Smith's expression turned thoughtful.

"I was, ah, thinking of doing it anyway," Tony hurried to explain. "I know it's your job, but I would have been lost without your help. It wouldn't be weird, like a-"

"You're on."

"Really?"

"You should celebrate. And I'd already planned to drag you out of the hotel for your last night in Madripoor."

"Well then." Tony checked the time. "If you lose, you treat me. You have two hours."

 

~~~~~

 

Within forty minutes, Smith had two vendors engaged in a skirmish over which of them could give him a better deal on fifty surplus tanks. The T54s were cheaper, but the M48s would be delivered at no additional cost.

It was hard to argue with free international shipping.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony dumped his plastic bag out on the sofa. "Damn, you made out like a bandit."

"How do you figure?" Smith asked, passing him the overflow bag.

In Tony's experience, convention swag meant logo-emblazoned pens and lanyards, stress balls, maybe a cheap flash drive or two. "Look at this shit. It's like we raided the locker room lost and found at a major police precinct." He picked through the pile. "Gun holster, belt pouch thing... is this a taser?"

"A model not typically sold to civilians, yes."

"Awesome, an _expensive_ taser. Scale model of an ICBM, hopefully-not-live grenade, Rambo's bandolier, more holsters... you don't have enough concealed weapons until you've run out of places to hide them, am I right?"

"Pretty sure you scored this anti-taser vest from the booth directly across from the one handing out the tasers."

"Well, all this-" Tony held back a pair of handcuffs to shove in his pocket. "All this is yours. Airport security would shit itself if I tried to take it with me."

"Thanks, Anthony. The next time I break someone's nose with this bizarre octopus-shaped knuckle duster, I'll think of you."

"Aw Reggie, you say the sweetest things."

Smith tried to hide a grin as he began to systematically re-pack the haul. "I'd like to go home for a bit, drop this stuff off and grab some fresh clothes-"

"Yes, go," Tony said. "Take your time, as long as you're back for that dinner I owe you. I'll kill a few hours in the sauna or something."

"Okay. See you at eight?"

"Eight o'clock. Er... where am I taking you?"

"I'll make the reservation." Keys in hand, Smith snagged his overnight duffel along with the other bags. "There's a place over in Lowtown that's on all the tourist itineraries, but even the locals consider it worth the drive. The Princess, look it up if you like."

Might not be a bad idea, if only to help Tony decide what to wear.

 

~~~~~

 

As predicted, Smith did casual extremely well, in dark jeans and a formfitting turtleneck. More limited in his options, Tony had guessed right in ditching his jacket and tie. They closed up the suite and headed down to the garage, where Tony moved right for the SUV's front passenger door and climbed inside before Smith could object.

"I had a feeling you were going to do that," Smith said. His greeting upstairs had been cool, almost brusque -- he couldn't be nervous, could he? -- but he rallied now to give Tony a lopsided smile.

It only took Tony six tries to get his seatbelt latched. "I'd like to be able to talk without shouting at the back of your head. Plus, the view's better up here -- through the windshield, I mean."

"Lowtown is a rough neighborhood, but parts of it are almost pretty all lit up at night. I'll take you the scenic route." Even as Smith said it, he double-checked that he'd locked the doors.

Rough didn't begin to describe it. They'd driven maybe twenty minutes before Tony noticed a marked change in the architecture outside, sleek office towers and townhomes blending in the space of a few blocks into older tenement-style buildings. The crowded street-level shops were plastered with neon lights behind barred windows. Those buildings soon gave way to ramshackle warehouses as the road narrowed and sidewalks and streetlights vanished.

Smith nodded to the left with his chin, making sure to keep both hands on the wheel. "Over there a few streets is the bay." It was the first landmark he'd pointed out since leaving Hightown; and Tony realized that, for the same length of time, he hadn't spoken except in monosyllabic replies.

After a couple more minutes of silence, Tony finally asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"You seem-"

"Tense?"

"I was going to say distracted."

"I'd hoped you hadn't noticed."

They couldn't be lost if Smith knew where they were in relation to the bay. Unless he was wrong... but he'd be using GPS if he needed it, right?

Smith's eyes stayed glued to the road. "The car's been driving funny."

Ride quality _had_ degenerated sharply since they'd crossed the invisible border into Lowtown. "You mean it isn't just the hundreds of potholes?"

"I don't think so, no."

"One of those bumps could have wrecked the alignment. I'd guess a flat tire, but this thing probably has run-flats."

"Affirmative." Smith slowed and put on his blinker -- not that there were other drivers around to see it. Then again, he was probably the kind of law abiding citizen who would signal turning in to his own driveway. "There's also a spare, and I'm afraid company policy says no driving on a flat unless there is a greater risk posed by _not_ driving on the flat."

Had Tony called it or what? "You're going to stop and check it."

"Yes."

"In this delightful neighborhood?"

"I'm carrying a gun, Anthony."

"What about me?"

"You're staying in the car."

"What if someone out there also has a gun and decides to shoot at us?"

"You're staying in the bulletproof car."

"What if the car catches fire?"

Smith pulled into a clear area that might have once been a loading dock. "Anthony."

"Fine."

"We'll probably be able to press on for the club. Worst case scenario, we both wait in the bulletproof, highly unlikely to catch fire car until one of my associates arrives with a spare vehicle. So pass me the flashlight in the glove box."

"Is this a flashlight or a baseball bat?" Tony tested the metal monstrosity by pointing the blinding light straight at his face, as you do. "Ow."

Smith was too deep in responsible security professional mode to be amused. "Stay," he repeated.

"At least leave the keys so I can listen to the radio?"

_Guess that's a no._

The car was so well insulated that Tony had to strain to catch the sound of Smith's deliberate footsteps, crunching on gravel. It was easier to follow the flashlight's beam as Smith circled the SUV once, then crouched beside the driver's wheel for a more thorough inspection. After a couple minutes he moved around the front bumper for tire number two.

Tony waved, trying to get Smith's attention. When that failed, he could have laid on the horn or pressed his face to the window, but texting was clearly the mature option. He pulled out his phone- _To: Reggie. Message: Find anything yet?_ -and hit send before he realized that he had no signal.

Stupid dead zone. Should he delete or let the message send on reconnect and confuse the hell out of-

Something slammed against the rear of the car.

Tony's first thought was: accident.

No, he hadn't seen headlights or heard an engine. Whatever had struck him had been solid and heavy enough to rock the vehicle on its suspension, but there'd been no whiplash or breaking glass.

The flashlight's beam swept through the car, dazzling Tony's attempt to figure out what the hell was happening.

"Smith?"

The beam skittered away and disappeared. Tony's straining ears picked out a softer thump, _Like a body, that was a body hitting the ground_.

"Reggie? Everything under control out there?"

Any second, Smith was going to knock on the window, starting the hell out of Tony, and explain that he'd just wiped the floor with a hapless would-be car thief or something.

Any second now.

"Reg?"

No footsteps. There should be footsteps. Tony didn't think his breathing had grown harsh enough to drown out exterior sounds.

"This isn't funny damn it!"

Was it possible Smith hadn't noticed? No, not with the way the car had shuddered. He should be able to hear Tony shouting, too.

Tony reached over to punch the horn, but halted when he realized he might just succeed in drawing unwanted attention.

There -- Tony admitted the _possibility_ that Smith had been taken by surprise and overpowered. Or maybe he'd had a freak accident, fallen and struck his head on the fender, and was lying on the ground in need of help. How long did Tony wait before he disobeyed and left the car?

He'd already waited too long. If Smith was hurt, Tony might need to drive him to a hospital. If Smith had been attacked, the assailant had access to the keys -- in which case getting out was no more risky than staying put.

Tony unbuckled and kicked his door open wide. "Smith?"

The flashlight was lying by the rear passenger tire, still on and shining up beneath the vehicle. Still no Smith; he must have dropped the light to... what, chase someone or something? Why not just switch it off?

No... he wouldn't be under the car.

_Please don't be under the car._

"Smith?" Tony tried one more time. He was crouching for the light when he felt a sharp pain stab his hip.

_What the...?_

Falling forward on one hand, he groped with the other. There was an object, thin and cylindrical; even the slightest pressure let him know that the tip was _embedded in his flesh,_ but he kept feeling until he reached something soft. Tufted fibers, short...

It was a goddamned tranquilizer dart.

"Oh, fuck."

How long did he have? Clearly not the seconds he'd come to expect from watching too many action movies, or else he'd already be face down in the dirt.

Tony yanked the thing out with a wince and stumbled to his feet. Adrenaline was probably helping, but he knew he wouldn't make it far if he ran. There was nowhere to run _to_.

The car. It wasn't secure, but it was safer than his other options. He dove inside, closed and locked the door.

His phone still had no signal, but maybe there was roadside assistance, a radio, sat phone, weapons... Pawing through the glove box, he tried to ignore the way his fingers didn't want to grasp things properly and his vision was beginning to fuzz around the edges.

No radio, no gun. _Focus,_ he slapped his cheeks. _Think._

Nothing beneath the seats.

Nobody approaching the vehicle that Tony could see.

Maybe Smith had gotten away -- or gotten far enough to dispose of the keys. Maybe he'd been able to get off a call for help, and all Tony had to do was wait it out. Just wait and hang on, hold on...

Just-

 

~~~~~

 


	2. Chapter 2

Coming awake was like swimming through jello, thick and sticky, alarmingly necessary but at the same time almost not worth the effort.

Tony couldn't hold his eyes open at first. Memories filtered back as he took in his surroundings one laborious blink at a time. He was lying on a bare floor. Metal, painted but old. Rivets and rust spots. The walls were more of the same. Low light. A cell? No, there would be concrete. A shipping container, a truck trailer?

What the hell had happened? Where was the car, where was Smith? Dead?

Why wasn't Tony dead? Because -- for now -- he was more valuable to someone alive.

_I've been kidnapped._

Shit like this wasn't supposed to happen anymore in Madripoor. The country had buried its pirate past, erected its glittering financial district on a thriving trade economy...

It was a ship. He was locked in the hold of a ship; he could see the door now, the hatch, and the dim light was entering through a porthole above his head.

It was daytime. He'd lost god knew how many hours. He could be _out at sea._

 _Don't panic. It's a mistake._ Tony pushed himself upright, swiping the heel of his hand angrily against his stinging eyes. _Whoever took me must have seen the car and the bodyguard and assumed I'm worth something to someone, but I'm not._

There was no one to pay a ransom. No rich family -- no family at all. SE would try to recover him, if only to avoid a PR fiasco. Tony was a nobody, a junior engineer who'd been with the company less than two years. It didn't matter that the company had once shared his name-

 _Oh no._ The car and the suite and Smith and the MDTECON presentation... of course his abduction hadn't been opportunistic. It had been a planned operation: sabotage the car, lure Smith away, block the cell signal, fucking _tranquilizer darts._

Someone must think Tony could provide trade secrets. His life was going to be worth nothing when they realized the truth.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony had been stripped of his phone and watch, belt, _shoelaces_ even _,_ and the contents of his pockets. Why take such precautions but leave him unbound? At first he'd thought the ship was moving, leaving him nowhere to run if he did manage to escape. Then he'd realized it was stationary, either docked or anchored with his porthole view facing open water, yet close to other ships. He could hear their horns and sometimes a rumbling engine.

There was less activity in his immediate vicinity. Objects striking metal, the occasional indistinct shout. How long would it be before someone came to check on him? There didn't appear to be any cameras in his hold, but an outfit that used tranquilizer darts for fuck's sake might conceal a small one among the rivets and rust.

Did he want attention? His dry throat and full bladder said yes, while intuition screamed hell no.

It was impossible to keep track of time, but he'd definitely been up and moving for less than an hour when he heard footsteps linger outside by his door, then the squeal of the lock disengaging. Make that a solid maybe on the camera. Could also be a guard on a regular round, or simply time for whatever drug Tony had been given to wear off.

The man who entered the hold was simultaneously ordinary and terrifying. He had a slightly plump, middle-aged face topped by a bad sports commentator haircut; but despite being similar in height, he must have outweighed Tony by fifty pounds of solid muscle. No obvious weapons.

He was probably the kind of guy who would _enjoy_ using his hands.

"Come."

Tony retreated an involuntary step.

"You come with me now. And if you _ever_ make me repeat myself again, I'll see that you live to regret it."

All Tony could do was nod and edge for the door. It was probably wise not to antagonize his captors before he had a better grasp of his situation, but in truth he knew his obedience was rooted in fear.

Sports commentator hair was first into the narrow hallway, blocking their right so that Tony had to lead going left. He wanted to observe and catalog everything he could about the ship, but it was impossible to concentrate with his captor crowding Tony's heels -- probably hoping Tony would run to justify a painful lesson.

The hallway was utilitarian, bare metal surfaces and exposed pipes. He should have been counting features, because he didn't have the nautical knowledge to understand most of the signs he saw. An exception was the head. Tony almost passed that door before realizing what it was. When he stopped without warning, the guard slammed into his back, causing Tony to stumble before a hand caught the back of his neck and squeezed.

"Move."

"Please," Tony croaked. "I really have to pee, I'm not lying."

"Thirty seconds. Door stays open, I watch."

Arguing was out of the question. Tony finished and risked washing up so that he could bend and take a drink from the faucet. Then, refreshed and emboldened, he tried, "What's going to happen to me?"

"Move."

Tony didn't have to be told twice a second time. He spoke while he walked. "Why am I here? What do you want with me?"

No answer. He would have been startled if there'd been one.

The guard grabbed Tony in an intersection and aimed him down a side passage. Or maybe the other was the side passage; this one was slightly wider, with a pair of guards idling not far away. These two were armed to the teeth and wearing the same paramilitary getup, black fatigue pants and maroon shirts. The way they tried to look less bored at Tony's approach suggested that his escort outranked them.

He'd been right about it being a serious operation.

There was an open door near the new guards. Tony was shoved through without warning or explanation, and would have fallen on his face if he hadn't been caught awkwardly in a pair of arms. Long black sleeves, handcuffs at the wrists.

Tony looked up into Smith's bloodied face and stammered, "You're alive."

Smith was ignoring Tony to glare at their captors through his one good eye. The other was bruised and swollen, with a gash running into his eyebrow.

"Five minutes," ESPN hair said. "Explain to him, then he goes to work."

"You're alive," Tony kept repeating between crushing hugs that made Smith wince.

"Anthony."

"Oh my god, I thought-"

Cuffs rattling, Smith took Tony's face between his hands. "Shhh, Anthony. You need to listen."

He'd suspected that Smith was dead, but there had also been the obscure hope that Smith had escaped and was leading a search to rescue Tony. If anyone could have done it, he could have. But he couldn't, he was trapped like Tony, worse than Tony, and he was sure to risk himself trying to protect his charge.

He looked like he already had.

Tony shuddered, burying that dead hope deep inside.

"Good," Smith said, "that's better. Are you okay? Have you been hurt?"

"Yes. I mean no, I'm not hurt but I'm not okay, either."

"You will be," Smith promised, and Anthony longed to believe him. "I need you to cooperate, okay? Anything the Secret Empire asks you to do, you do it. No questions, no tricks."

 _Secret Empire?_ "I don't understand."

Smith released Tony. "You're not being held for ransom, they want you to fix something for them."

"No-"

" _Yes._ Broken tools get thrown away, Anthony. Be a useful tool, one that's too valuable to discard."

ESPN said, "Time's up," directing the other two guards into the room to collect Tony.

Smith leaned in to whisper against Tony's ear. "Don't worry about me, work to keep yourself alive. That's what matters now."

"Reg..."

The guards separated them, one hauling Tony for the door while the other casually drove his fist into Smith's stomach. No warning, no provocation -- one second Smith was standing there looking anxious, the next he was doubled over in a coughing fit.

"You like him," ESPN informed Tony, if this was somehow a secret he'd ferreted out. "Good. You fuck up, cause problems, you won't be punished. He will."

 

~~~~~

 

Tony was tossed into a new room, larger and outfitted as a crude workshop. There were computers -- probably on a restricted subnet if they were network capable at all -- benches, bins of parts, plus a sleeping pallet and bucket shoved in the corner, the Secret Empire's idea of amenities.

Damn it, there hadn't been time to ask if Smith had heard of the group or knew anything about them, anything that might hint at what Tony was supposed to fix and why.

 _You work for a major weapons contractor, you_ know _what they'll want you to do._

He'd been left alone, locked inside, just him and the hidden cameras. Still, it was an illusion of privacy which caused his facade to slip; a hot tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. He eased himself into a chair, concentrating on his breathing and willing the cracks to stabilize.

For Smith. If Tony proved his value, he might figure out a way to buy Smith's safety.

"I'm ready," he announced to the room. "Where do I start?"

A computer monitor flickered to life, and an open terminal window spat out a line of text. Tony wheeled himself close enough to read.

% BLUEPRINTS_

Tony typed:

% Blueprints to what?_

% Hello?_

There was no answer. No questions, Smith had warned.

Locating the prints on the system was easy, deciphering them was going to be a nightmare. They were image files, scans of hard copies, annotated by hand and wrinkled and mistreated in the intervening years. There were no identifying marks or dates, but many of the components were old, at least thirty or forty years out of date. Heavy reliance on discrete circuits, with the notable inclusion of some _8-bit_ microprocessors.

"I don't know what this is or what it's supposed to do," Tony said aloud, still scrolling through the prints. A slight lie, he had some idea, if he was correctly grasping the concept. He disliked that uncertainty; his job at SE depended on his ability to rapidly ingest and master complex systems. It had been a while since he'd encountered the feeling that he was missing something, a fundamental design leap which he'd failed to spot and follow.

"I can't build it, not unless you want to raid a landfill for parts." Even then, there was no guarantee-

The terminal window jumped to the front of the screen.

% NOT BUILD FIX REPAIR MAKE FUNCTIONAL_

Tony dragged up the prints again, a sinking suspicion causing him to hunt for blocks of text. Handwriting. He zoomed in on three or four before concluding that the device was an elaborate brick. A failed design spewed up by the mind of a failed inventor, likely in the midst of an alcoholic fog.

After all, Howard Stark wouldn't have been forced to sell his company if he'd built more things that worked.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony was provided with a prototype, assembled exactly to spec.

Of course the goddamned thing didn't do what it was supposed to; and Tony wasn't even positive he knew what that was because his dad had done some whacked-out things like trash the family car trying to make it fly. It hadn't been paid for and insurance hadn't covered the damages and Tony probably wasn't supposed to have heard those fights through his parents' bedroom door late at night but he had.

At least the prototype was harmless in its current state. It didn't do anything.

% FIX REPAIR MAKE FUNCTIONAL_

"I'm not sure I can. This is useless." He dropped it on the metal workbench, then changed his mind and swept it onto the floor. Finally, a kick for good measure sent it skittering across the room.

% FIX REPAIR MAKE FUNCTIONAL_

"I'll have to start over," Tony groaned into his hands. "New everything. I'll need materials, parts."

% PARTS IN BINS_

" _Good_ parts, not that shit you bought at the knockoff Radio Shack."

% MAKE LIST_

"And I want to see Smith again. I want to... to know he's still alive." That he hadn't been killed immediately after securing Tony's cooperation.

No response.

Tony reached over and typed:

% I want to see Smith_

There was a lengthy pause, and a delay between the letters that appeared at the prompt.

% NO_

That wasn't the whole message, though.

% NOT POSSIBLE_

What did they mean, not possible? Had Smith escaped? Been killed? Been killed while trying to escape? Tony wished his captors had left it at a simple refusal. It would have been so much less alarming.

Trying not to sound timid, he said, "How about a trade? I give you the list, you let me talk to Smith."

This response was all too prompt.

% COUNTEROFFER_

% YOU GIVE LIST WE GIVE YOU ONE OF HIS FINGERS INSTEAD OF AN EYE_

% STILL WANT TO BARGAIN?_

"No! Lesson learned, no bargains. I'm making the list, right now, I'm doing what you ask."

_Please, don't bring him to me in pieces._

 

~~~~~

 

Now that Tony had access to the computer's clock, he could estimate that he'd spent about fourteen hours sleeping off the drug. A guard brought him food and water in the afternoon, and again in the evening after he'd submitted the shopping list. Actual bathroom breaks were also allowed at those times. He would have to wait a day or two before he'd know if there was a set schedule.

He wasn't hungry but he ate; at night when he was tired, worn down by his ordeal, he refused to sleep. Coffee was delivered without his asking, doubtless to extend his productive hours.

He didn't want to rely too much on the computers, which were crawling with keyloggers, so he printed out sections of the blueprints and stitched them together on one of the tables. Then he sat down and began to disassemble the prototype.

Maybe he shouldn't have kicked it around the room. Now that he was actually getting into the guts of the thing, it presented an unexpected puzzle. It wasn't newly constructed from old tech, as he'd first thought. Some of the parts were old enough to be original, but some had been replaced or upgraded in the intervening years.

The oldest bits were brittle. Tony cursed when he somehow managed to crack a circuit board while backing out a screw.

Footsteps approached, and his cell door was thrown open. The guards, he'd noticed, acted as if Tony was either not brave enough or not stupid enough to pose a threat. For the most part they were right, but if he _was_ going to ambush one of them with a sharpened screwdriver, he already knew how he'd do it.

"Breakfast already?" Tony asked guard number two. He hadn't seen ESPN since the move to the workshop, but it was likely he'd been taking instructions from the man. Someone was on the other side of the terminal window.

The guard said nothing, just motioned Smith inside at gunpoint and closed the door.

"Reg!"

Still cuffed, Smith sidestepped Tony's oncoming rush, leaving Tony reduced to sort of patting his elbow in greeting. Even that much Smith seemed to be just tolerating as he inspected his surroundings.

"Sorry," Tony mumbled after a moment and slid back a step.

Smith's attention snagged on Tony and stuck there. "Are you okay?"

Tony nodded. "Are you? Aside from the, um..." The eye and the lip and the dried blood from earlier. "I screwed up. I didn't know when they would let me see you again." He glanced at Smith's hands, counted fingers.

"I told you not to worry about me. Just do what you're told."

His job. "They want me to fix something, but I-"

Smith tapped his ear in warning: they're listening. "You haven't rested, have you?"

"I couldn't."

"You should try, now that I'm here."

"I can keep working," Tony insisted.

"Sooner or later you'll start making mistakes, mistakes that could cost us." Smith spotted the sleeping pallet. "Come on."

It gave Tony an idea. He whispered, "If we want to talk, really talk, we could duck under the blankets-"

"We're _behaving_. Nothing suspicious, they'll separate us."

Tony nodded again. Behaving was his job until Smith told him otherwise. When there was a plan, Smith would know how to share it without getting caught.

They sat against the wall, Smith with his knees raised and Tony wedged against his reassuring bulk.

"Your agency will be looking for you, right? Since you haven't checked in."

"Yes." Smith hesitated. "They'll track the car, alert the authorities, but our trail will be cold. Don't get your hopes up."

He wasn't, not exactly. Without a task to occupy his hands, Tony couldn't keep his mind from zeroing in on the thoughts he'd skirted all day. "Last night... what happened after you left the car?"

"The past is done. No use dwelling on it."

No, but there might be something useful to be gleaned from-

Right. Smith would have reexamined it forwards, backwards, and upside down. He'd had hours to beat himself up over it. "Reg, I'm sure you did everything you could to protect me." He might have failed, but, "It wasn't your fault."

_"Don't."_

"These Secret Empire guys? They're geared, coordinated, and there's more of them."

Smith crossed his arms as best he could in the cuffs and closed his eyes. "Anthony, shut up. I'm tired too."

Fine, but Tony still wasn't blaming him. "You're actually going to sleep? Like that? How?"

"Army," Smith said.

"What?"

"Active duty in a combat zone. That's where I learned to fall asleep anytime, anyplace, in the middle of any racket."

"Oh." Tony had wanted to know; it was just troubling that Smith chose present circumstances to open up about his history.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony woke up alone, stretched out beneath a blanket. He didn't remember moving, or being moved. He didn't remember Smith leaving, but a worried search turned up a note on his keyboard in what he assumed was Smith's handwriting.

_Didn't want to disturb you. You were out when they came to take me back to my cell. If you make progress today they say I'll be allowed to visit again, so good luck. -Roger S._

He looked for a hidden message, rearranged words and letters, hunted for patterns that weren't there. It was just a note.

His requested parts -- _all_ of them -- were waiting on the worktable.

The computer screen greeted him with:

% BACK TO WORK_

Tony returned to the blueprints. They were messy, wandering on tangents, snatches of other things his father had been contemplating. Water stains were visible even on the copies, and Tony could picture the tumbler sitting there, scotch on the rocks, sweating onto the paper.

Were they from before or after Howard had lost the fight for Stark Enterprises? Growing up, it had been a forbidden subject around the house, but Tony had heard plenty about it after the accident: how his father could have stayed on in some capacity, but he'd refused all offers, cut all ties, and burned his bridges for good measure. Tony had overheard someone at the funeral describe Howard Stark as a child who had thrown his toy away because he'd been told he had to share it.

He'd spent the next few years trying to start over, but he'd never connected with another chance opportunity like the one that had launched SE in the first place. (Tony had heard that story too, about how his father's erratic business practices had almost doomed the company, and the takeover had turned it around into the enormous success it was today. Hell, a gentler version of the story was printed all over the corporate literature.)

So, the blueprints had probably come after the takeover. Anything that had been in development prior was probably still tied up with the company's intellectual rights, and Howard would have wanted no part of that.

What had he been working on during that period? Wildly expensive things. The next big thing. If they'd been on speaking terms Tony might know more, but he'd been doing his damndest to spend as little time at home as possible. Those four summer jobs his junior year at various garages and computer shops sure as hell hadn't been about the money.

Had there been other parties involved? Not partners -- Howard had needed operational control to mask his shortcomings -- but maybe a consultant, someone used as a springboard, strong in Howard's weaker areas. Programming, maybe. _Someone_ held on to this shit all these years, and it was probably the same someone with the technical expertise to spot the value in its potential application.

It must piss them off that they hadn't been able to get the design working on their own. It also said something that their first option had been criminal coercion. Tony was almost insulted they hadn't tried to buy him in first.

He took the keyboard and typed:

% Which one of you knew my father? I want to talk to them_

% BACK TO WORK_

"You can't think I'm stupid or I wouldn't be here. Someone acquainted with the problem knew which references and programs to load on the computers. Let me talk to them," Tony said. "Just knowing where to start would get me- you that much closer to your solution."

% SPEED UP THE PROCESS_

"Yes, exactly."

Tony waited, anticipation mingling in his stomach with unease and simple hunger. A window with media controls popped up on screen, and for a split second he thought it might be a prerecorded message or even a video chat.

It was a grainy stream of Smith curled on the floor, forearms protecting his face, while ESPN landed a kick up under his ribs. There was no sound, so he was spared the thud of the impact.

% SPEED UP THE PROCESS_

Tony got the fucking point.

 

~~~~~

 

The weird thing was that Howard had been close in the end, so goddamned close, and Tony didn't know how to feel about that. It would have changed their lives, no question.

Change didn't always mean improvement.

It would have been wrong to think he was smarter than his father. The groundwork, however messy, was all Howard's. Tony hadn't begun to really grasp the brilliance of the thought process until he'd delved into the handwritten notes: minimal sketches and half-formed ideas that shot off in a dozen startling directions. Frustration coursed through it all, a man intelligent enough to visualize the end point he couldn't quite reach.

A gravitic reversion drive, he'd been calling it. Electrogravitics. Leave it to Howard to try to advance a field that had been scientifically dead for decades, the realm of UFO nuts and conspiracy theorists.

The prototype was a mere proof of concept -- but the same could be said of the first light bulb.

Progress was slower than Tony would have liked. He was accustomed to working as a part of a much larger organism -- moving from a set starting point to a clearly defined resolution, everything stringently documented so that no single link in the chain was irreplaceable. He had to stop himself every time he reached for keyboard or pencil and think, _Can I keep this step in my head?_

Tony's life would lose all value if he gave the Secret Empire everything; by extension so would Smith's. Cooperating would keep them both alive in the short term. What Tony needed was a solution that would let them both walk out of captivity alive.

Smith... wasn't sharing. Whatever he'd observed, whatever he was thinking or planning, he clearly thought that Tony would be safer kept in the dark. Self-sacrifice in protection of the asset was part of the job description. Tony needed him to _not do anything stupid_ before Tony was able to piece together a plan of his own.

He worked through the night, intentionally flawed simulations running in the background and soldering gun never far from hand; by morning he had three burned fingers and a half-completed device to show for it.

A guard dumped Smith in Tony's cell, along with breakfast and more coffee.

Tony didn't move from his workstation, though he watched Smith's approach for signs of pain or stiffness. The man had to be hurting, but he disguised it well.

"Morning." Smith dragged over a chair, hampered by those stupid cuffs. "They say you've made progress."

"I suppose." Tony hadn't asked to see him, partly to avoid unnecessary distraction, and partly because it was easier than pretending he wasn't withholding his own information. "If all goes well, I may be able to test it in the next day or two."

_Then what?_

It should have been the question on both their tongues: what happens to them when Tony completes the device? Was Tony expected to believe the Secret Empire would just... let them walk? Or was he expected to trust Smith more than his own assessment?

"That is good news." Smith's expression said otherwise. He was staring at the device like it was an inconvenience, maybe one that wasn't conforming to his timetable. Given the chance, he might even sabotage it to stall for time.

Even more incentive for Tony to work quickly. "How are you holding up?" he asked.

"That's supposed to be my line."

_Uh huh._

"Well?" Smith said.

Two could play the evasion game. "Wasn't my first furious all-nighter, and it won't be my last."

Smith's eyebrows pinched together, but he didn't comment.

Sleep probably was a good idea, while Smith was here. It could be a while before he got another chance. "Will you sit with me again, help me get some rest?"

"Of course." Smith found the shadow of a smile. "I'll do anything I can for you, Anthony. You know that."

_Yeah, I'm afraid I do._

Smith's involuntary hiss when he eased himself down on the blankets also went without comment. Tony scrunched close again, trying not to put pressure on any part of him that might be sore. He wanted to make it difficult for Smith to get up without waking him, just in case sabotage was-

There it was, the critical piece of the plan slotting into place.

 

~~~~~

 

Smith was allowed to stay. He was wise enough not to disturb Tony with attempts at conversation, mostly stayed in his seat with the unrelenting patience of someone who waits for a living.

At one point, Tony had glanced up to see him working his neck and shoulders and asked if Smith would like the cuffs removed. As expected, the offer had been declined.

They were behaving.

Maybe it was better that Smith not be free. Tony hadn't expected him to be present when the gravitic reversion drive was ready for testing, and he didn't dare share his intentions. Maybe disadvantage and surprise would prevent Smith from making a suicidal bid to ruin everything.

Their terminal window friend had been silent all day. Tony had enjoyed the reprieve; it was a shame he was going to have to summon them shortly.

"Reg?"

Smith looked up and caught Tony's eye.

Tony was really going through with it, wasn't he? For Roger Smith, a guy he barely knew, and yet-

He wanted to believe that, under different circumstances, they might have been able to start something. But what other circumstances could have kept them in proximity long enough to give each other a chance?

"Anthony?"

_I'll miss you, when this is done._

Smith stood. "Is something wrong?"

Tony drew him to the worktable and turned him in place. "Right there, please. Hold that position."

"Yes, sir." Smith watched Tony place himself opposite, then glanced around the room. Working out camera angles. Of course it would take him all of two seconds to figure out what Tony was doing.

There were three that Tony had been able to find. The prototype on the table should be blocked from view now. If it didn't work the first time, if he had to shut if off, he'd need that privacy.

"Would you care to do the honors?"

Smith tensed, sucking in a breath through his nose. "It's ready?"

"For trial," Tony nodded. "Go ahead, it won't bite." Even if the GRD itself did resemble a tortured slinky mated to a speaker driver.

"You're sure."

"Go on. The suspense is killing me." He'd breadboarded the components, tested for DOAs. If the prototype didn't fire up as planned, it wouldn't be due to faulty hardware.

Smith flipped the switch and snatched his hand away. The lights in the hold flickered, browned out by the increased strain on the circuit. "That... seems bad."

"No, I was expecting that." The GRD was vibrating, a buzz that soon increased to a rattle as the device skittered around the metal tabletop. Then, all at once, it stopped moving and the noise fell away to an electric hum.

Smith couldn't disguise his relief. "Is it-"

"It's not broken, it's floating. Look." Tony gave the power umbilical a tug and the GRD glided toward him as if on a cushion of air.

_I did it. Oh my god, it actually works._

Wariness gone, Smith leaned in to examine the prototype with an intense, analytical curiosity. He slid a piece of paper into the space between table and device, testing for air flow that might explain the hovering. The page remained perfectly still. "I assume it's nothing as simple as magnets."

"More like electromagnetic propulsion."

"Sounds impressive."

"You have _no idea,"_ Tony beamed. "Seriously, you don't. I could make a career out of this. I could-" The smile, the excitement crumpled. For a few glorious seconds, he'd forgotten that he was a captive, and that none of the work he'd done here belonged to him. Not yet.

"You did it. I knew you could."

Well, that made one of them.

Smith circled around to Tony, regret informing his every step. "I'm just-" He worried the cuff on one wrist, causing the chain links to jangle. "There's no easy way to say this."

"Then don't," Tony began. _Don't say sorry, don't talk about the future like you don't expect to see it._ Before he knew what had happened, Smith had him caught up against the table, without an escape route or even adequate space to breathe. The sharp-edged tabletop bit into the backs of his thighs.

"Whatever happens, I want you to know that I-" Smith's expression was quizzical as he leaned in, only to stop a breath short of the kiss. He searched Tony's face for understanding, permission... courage, maybe.

Tony reached up to thumb the edge of Smith's mouth, where a scab had formed -- a hit he'd taken on Tony's behalf.

Smith whispered, "You did good, Tony. It's my turn. I'm gonna get you out of here."

_You. Not us._

"I believe you," Tony said, and took his damned kiss. If he left it to Smith it would be one of those stupid apologetic goodbyes. Tony wanted hot and vivid, tongues and stubble burn; and if his version was also goodbye, it was more the flinging a molotov cocktail over his shoulder on the way out the door kind.

Smith yielded at once, lips parting to welcome Tony inside. A gratifying little note of surprise stuck in his throat, a thrill at Tony's eagerness, which he met but was careful not to exceed. He couldn't seem to figure out what to do with his hands, still bound and trapped between their chests; or maybe he knew exactly where he was headed, plucking at Tony's shirt buttons until he found the gap between them and slid a finger through.

Tony broke off to nip at Smith's jaw, something he'd not so secretly wanted to do for days. "Remind me again why we waited too long to try this."

"Wasn't a good idea," Smith huffed. "Still isn't."

"But you _were_ checking me out. I didn't imagine that."

"If you're asking if I liked what I saw, then-"

The screech of the door interrupted him. Tony had been too distracted to notice footsteps outside. It was possible Smith had missed the warning, too. He backed away, taking a second to spot test his composure before turning to face the guards who'd just entered, ESPN in the lead.

No use pretending they hadn't been seen. Not that it changed the stakes, either. The secret army or whatever bastards had known from the start that Smith was their key to exacting Tony's cooperation.

"Well, well," ESPN smirked. He'd definitely seen something. "Taking this a bit far, aren't you?"

"Not your concern, _friend,_ " Smith said, in a tone that made Tony wonder if he wanted to keep all his teeth. What happened to behaving?

_Fuck, or it could be the start of whatever Reg has been hiding._

Tony stepped around Smith, arms spread to keep the idiot from attempting to reposition himself between Tony and whatever danger the guards presented. "Please, everyone relax." He told ESPN, "Lesson learned, I don't want trouble. I've done what you asked, which... you already know because of the cameras watching my every move."

"Where is it?"

"Right over here, ah, sir. If I could just get Mr Smith to move out of the way, Reg _please._ " Tony had to physically march Smith across the hold. He hadn't been positive at first that he'd be allowed to, when he'd put his palms on Smith's chest and pushed and gotten the same reaction he would have from shoving a boulder.

"What are you doing?" Smith hissed.

Tony hissed right back at him, "Showing off my prototype like a good little captive inventor. Mr Cooperation, that's me. I do what they tell me because that's what _you_ told me to do."

"There a problem?" Thankfully, ESPN still sounded like he was on the amused side of inconvenienced.

"No," Tony said, leaving Smith in the time-out corner. "As you can see, the device is powered on and functional."

"What's wrong with the lights?"

"The GRD draws a lot of juice. We really should discuss power requirements in the future."

ESPN shot Tony a filthy look, as if he could smell the trick but hadn't figured out where it was yet.

"That's gravitic reversion drive. It's a... misnomer, it doesn't induce true mass-cancellation and it won't function in a- You know what, let me show you." Tony prodded the prototype across the table, waving things around it to show that yes, it really was levitating and no, there were no strings.

"Yes, but what does it _do?"_ ESPN said.

Tough audience. Tony could have brought the house down at MDTECON with his prototype -- even though the concept had obvious applications outside the defense industry. (It had less than obvious applications inside the defense industry as well. Tony wasn't stupid, he knew how gravitic reversion could be weaponized; and criminal cabals didn't tend to steal emerging technology because they were interested in making the world a better place.)

_Moment of truth._

"It does this." Tony swept the prototype off the table. The confidence was key, even if it was all for show. He needed them to believe that he knew what he was doing, that he'd been positive the GRD would glide, perfectly poised, into the middle of the hold. Suspended by nothing, supported by nothing, no wobbles or shifts in altitude.

That got their attention.

Tony said, "As you can see, I upheld my end of the bargain. And I'm gonna come right out and say that I don't trust _my kidnappers_ to uphold yours. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be getting out of this deal, and that's unacceptable."

Smith charged out of his corner after Tony. "Stop. Right now, whatever you're doing."

"Stay out of this, Reg."

"No, you don't know what these people-"

ESPN drew his pistol, halting Smith short. He waved it in Tony's direction. "This should be entertaining. Please, continue."

"You can't blame me for wanting insurance," Tony said. The gun was slightly terrifying, so he took a stroll behind the table to mask an urge to fidget. "I sabotaged my work. Specs, design, simulations... all flawed, I'm afraid. And the best parts are up here," he tapped his temple.

"We have a working prototype. I think we'll manage to reproduce it without your... cooperation." ESPN made a show of ejecting his magazine and inspecting the first round before reloading it. He said to Smith, "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill him yet. He doesn't understand about us, does he? It's a lesson I'll enjoy very much."

"Anthony," Smith pleaded. He took another step; the other two guards drew their weapons. "If you think he won't torture you to get what's inside your head, you're wrong."

Tony told ESPN, "Bring me on board and you won't have to. I want in."

Smith's hands balled into fists, an expression of outrage darkening his face.

ESPN's laughter was picked up by the other guards. "You're trying to join us?"

"A mutually beneficial business arrangement -- which you'll admit has not defined our working relationship to date. You want the tech developed and you want it fast and without a hassle." Tony pointed at the prototype. "I can give that to you. In return, I want Smith released unharmed, and I want the chance to continue my father's work... plus a modest cut of the profits."

"Fool. The Secret Empire doesn't pay for what it can take." ESPN motioned his men after Smith and Tony, while he went for the prototype. He examined it from all sides, prodded it a few times, and gave up at once on following the power umbilical. Instead, he hit the power switch and prepared to catch the thing when it dropped.

There was a loud zap. ESPN shied away, as any sane person would from a piece of unknown technology that was spraying sparks and noxious black smoke. The GRD hit the ground, rolled onto its side, and proceeded to melt from the inside out.

"Told you I sabotaged my work," Tony said.

 

~~~~~

 

Shouting brought more guards, who added to the fracas by demanding to know what had happened.

Tony was glad for the new arrivals. The increased show of strength should discourage Smith from trying something stupid and getting himself killed. The downside was that there were a more guns being pointed around in confusion.

Smith didn't dare move, but that didn't stop him from trying to reason with Tony from across the room.

When ESPN was done stomping the shit out of the prototype, ostensibly to put out the fire, he turned his attention to Tony. Shouldering guards aside, he grabbed the collar of Tony's shirt and hauled him close. "I should kill you."

"Not wise." Tony had thought this part through carefully. His argument was sound, reasonable even. The risk was all in how the other party would accept it. "You'll still get what you want faster if you give me what _I_ want. Kill me and you might have to wait another ten years to find someone who can finish what my father started."

"Or I can torture what I want out of you, like your bodyguard said."

"You might get the bare minimum," Tony agreed, coughing when ESPN tightened the grip at his throat, "but I'll always hold something back. You won't know what, because you don't have anyone capable of following the project. You have someone who tried; if they'd been good enough I wouldn't be here."

ESPN said the one thing Tony hadn't expected to hear, which threatened to derail his plan entirely. "That is not our problem. We can deliver trash and still be paid, so long as it functions."

 _Oh, no._ "Wait-"

"Damn it," Smith growled. "I warned you and you wouldn't. Listen."

ESPN released Tony, smoothing down his collar before giving him what would have been a fatherly slap on the cheek if it hadn't been hard enough to rattle Tony's teeth. "He's right, you should have listened. You _also_ should have listened when I promised to punish him for your bad behavior."

Oh god, the whole thing was going sideways. Why hadn't he considered that the evil cabal might be working for hire? He'd been delusional to think his ploy stood even a chance of success. Instead of buying Smith's freedom, he was going get the man killed.

"Please." Ignoring the guns trained on him, Tony edged toward Smith. He was surprised by how calm his own voice sounded. "Let him walk away. I'll build you another device, I'll do anything-"

"Anthony. Not one more step, not another fucking word," Smith said.

ESPN walked over to Smith, halting when he was perhaps three feet away to extend his shooting arm. He settled on Smith's left knee as his target, thumbed off his safety, and pinned Tony with a challenging look. "You were saying?"

Tony shook his head violently.

"Go on, give me an excuse."

"You don't want to do that." Smith's voice was so steely and menacing that it Tony a shocked moment to realize that he'd spoken to ESPN.

"I disagree. Punishment is due. You know how difficult it is to maintain discipline and morale if people are not held accountable for their mistakes."

The attitude of the room had been tense before Smith and ESPN's weirdly charged exchange. Now it turned volatile. The guards froze to a man, and Tony broke out in a cold sweat.

Smith was the calmest Tony had ever seen him -- at least on the surface. "Drake, put the gun away before someone gets hurt. We can still work something out."

 _ESPN's name is Drake?_ And when the hell had the two of them become chatty, during their little sessions? In the breaks between punches and kicks to the ribs?

Drake gave his response as a sneer.

There was no warning, just an explosion of movement from Smith and the near instantaneous crack a gunshot. Tony might have shouted something or screamed; he couldn't be sure with his ears ringing and the struggle over so quickly that no one had time to react, not even Drake.

By all appearances, Smith had stepped into the shot. But he'd gone for the gun at the same time, pushing Drake's aim wide. Far from hampered by the cuffs, he'd somehow looped the chain around the gun barrel, locked one hand on his opposite wrist, and wrenched the thing out of Drake's grasp. The same motion flowed into a pivot which put Smith in position to drive his elbow back and up into Drake's nose.

The hit put Drake on the floor. Smith literally dove after the gun, and had it comfortably under control when he came out of his roll.

"Weapons down," Smith ordered.

The rest of the guards obeyed, probably because he'd climbed to his feet while aiming his gun at their commander's head. Drake's nose was gushing blood. He seemed disoriented, and when he started to move Smith barked at him to stay put.

"Anyone hit by the ricochet?"

"I don't think so," Tony said unsteadily, heart racing. He knew the stand-down was temporary. Smith was good -- fuck that, he was amazing -- but it was one of him against a half dozen men, plus however many more were scattered around the ship.

"Anthony?"

"I'm okay." For the moment. Odds were against both of them getting off the ship alive. _We're going to be running and he's going to push me ahead and promise to be right behind me and it's going to be a terrible lie._

Tony's thoughts were interrupted by activity at the door. The woman who entered projected an air more of impatience than concern. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she was dressed in the standard uniform of fatigue pants and maroon shirt. Tony might have mistaken her for a guard if the others hadn't marked her arrival with obvious respect -- and perhaps trepidation.

"Madam." Some nodded, "Madam Nine."

If Smith had been looking for a high-value hostage, he'd found one. Or she'd found him.

"I was on the bridge," the woman announced. _"Attending Council._ The Council, as you know, detests interruptions. I must answer to them for this one; and therefore, someone is going to answer to me."

Nobody moved. Drake might have stopped breathing.

Nine's gaze swept around the hold, halting abruptly on Tony. She strode over to him, and even though she wasn't openly armed, he still had to make a conscious effort to stand his ground. "Ah, the Stark boy. I've been watching you. Intelligent, pretty, _and_ deceitful."

Tony knew that Smith didn't have a clean shot. If Nine came at Tony with a knife or something, he'd be toast. "Smith?" he called. _Little help here. What's the plan, what should I do?_

"I must apologize for my lieutenant." Her eyes flicked to Drake and back. "He has the soul of a pirate, whereas I am an investor. And I make you for a gambler."

"Only when I'm desperate," Tony muttered.

Nine tilted her head in Drake's direction. "How many rounds are left in that pistol?"

"Fifteen. Madam," Drake said.

_Smith, what the hell?_

"Fifteen bullets in the hands of a man like your bodyguard could do a lot of damage," Nine reasoned. "Shame I have twenty just like him, and they're all better armed."

"What's your point?" Tony said. Other than to rub in just how very screwed he and Smith were.

"You proposed an exchange, your cooperation for his freedom. I accept."

"Madam!" Drake said.

"Is that my disgraced lieutenant I hear, trying to tell me my own mind? After he failed twice in one day, outsmarted and outfought."

A horrified looking Drake snapped his mouth shut.

Tony blinked. His entire plan had collapsed, and here this woman was, offering him exactly what he'd wanted. Where was the catch? "If I agree, you'll let Smith walk free right now, unharmed."

"Yes."

"How can I trust you?" Tony asked. "How can I know you won't have him shot as soon as he's out of my sight?"

Nine motioned over a guard. "Contact our client. Tell him there's been an unfortunate accident involving the prototype... and also Stark's son. Tell him we'll pay him double what our fee was going to be, for his trouble."

"Yes, Madam."

"That doesn't prove anything," Tony said.

"Doesn't it? You just cost me two million dollars. I know the only way I'm going to recoup that investment is by convincing you to 'hold nothing back' from your work. Upon successful delivery of your first project, we'll discuss compensation for your future efforts."

"Unbelievable. Someone hired you guys to squeeze a prototype out of me, but you've decided to poach me instead."

"It was your idea," Nine reminded, holding out her hand. "Do we have an agreement?"

"I'll want proof that Smith is alive and well, and I'll want it regularly." Tony ticked off, "Phone calls, photos, videos-"

"You and your bodyguard arrange whatever system you'd like. I don't care to know the details. Do we have an agreement?"

"My work, his freedom," Tony shook Nine's hand. He'd expected more protest from Smith, but at the same time he was relieved not to have him wade in and blow up the negotiations. Maybe he'd finally accepted that Tony might not _need_ rescuing -- but if he should, Smith would be most effective alive and on the outside.

"Good." Nine walked to Smith, slid the gun from his unresisting fingers, and put two bullets into Drake's chest: pop, pop. He toppled over dead without making a sound.

Tony was the only person in the room who even flinched. He managed not to cry out; but then, the bloodshed had been so unexpected that he was still numb with shock.

"Well?" Nine said to Smith. "You heard the Stark boy. You're free to go." Nobody who'd just killed a man in front of half a dozen witnesses should be so pleased. Amused, even.

"Anthony," Smith nodded.

"Uncuff him," Tony said.

Smith dug awkwardly into his pocket, chasing after something. A couple seconds after he'd found it he had one handcuff unfastened, and then the other. He dropped the cuffs and the object on the ground.

A key. It was a little silver key.

Tony's heart seized. "Reg...? Tell me what's happening." _Tell me you stole that key and could have freed yourself at any time but didn't because we were behaving. Tell me that._

Nine _put the gun back in Smith's hands;_ he checked the safety before tucking it into the waistband at the small of his back. "The subterfuge was Drake's idea, wasn't it?" she said, holding Smith's chin to inspect his black eye.

"Yes."

"He'd hated you since Malta."

_"Reg, what the everliving fuck?!"_

Smith shrugged. "That was his problem."

"And now his problem is yours. I know how ambitious you are, how you've hungered for an opportunity to prove yourself." Nine twirled her finger above her head. "Fix this."

"Yes, Madam," Smith bowed. "I won't disappoint."

 

~~~~~

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, there will be four parts. This thing is officially beyond out of control. I'm not allowed to do reverse bangs anymore.
> 
> Thanks to Memorydragon and Magicasen for the fantabulous beta work on this chapter.

~~~~~

 

_It's not real._

Tony couldn't stop staring at Drake's lifeless body. His shirt had small tears left by the bullets; its maroon color, coincidentally, disguised the soaked-in blood.

_Can't be._

"Jones, Brown, clean up this mess. I'll manage the new recruit. The rest of you, back to your posts."

_If it's not real then how is Smith ordering the guards by name? And they're obeying, and he's talking about getting rid of a body the way a normal person talks about mopping up a spilled drink._

"Don't touch me!"

Smith released Tony's arm but remained close. He murmured, "Starting now, your behavior will dictate the degree of autonomy you're allowed. I strongly suggest you shut up and come with me."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" As comebacks went, it was terrible; but Tony had moved beyond shock. The actual words weren't as important as the anger supporting them.

"I _insist_ ," Smith said.

The trip to wherever they were going was silent. Tony should have made use of the impromptu tour to learn the ship better, but he was too busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other instead of launching himself at Smith and trying to claw his eyes out.

Their destination was a small room nestled at the end of a passageway -- crew quarters of some kind. A duffel bag Tony recognized as Smith's was sitting on one of the folded down bunks, while Tony's luggage was crammed beneath the opposite bunk.

That wasn't ominous or anything.

Smith crowded in on Tony's heels, hitting the light switch and pulling the door shut behind them. "There's no surveillance in here," he said by way of explanation.

"So you say."

"For what it's worth-" Smith began.

Tony wasn't sure what he was attempting to do or gain by body-checking Smith into the door. He did earn a satisfying grunt of pain before Smith recovered and reversed their positions, spinning Tony up against the door with his hands pressed above his head and Smith's hip pinning the rest of him immobile.

"Don't do that again."

"Fuck you." It was impossible to get off a good kick, but Tony tried anyway. "I liked you. I _trusted_ you, and you played along the whole time knowing exactly what was coming."

"That's right, I had a handle on the situation until you decided to blow it all to hell with that sabotage stunt. I said I would get you out _and I would have._ "

"You were the one who kidnapped me in the first place!" The words were out of Tony's mouth before he realized it was true. "Let me go," he said, hit by a fresh wash of fear. He didn't know Smith at all; he could have a short-fuse temper or a sadistic streak a mile wide.

There was one thing Tony did know. The man had no conscience.

Smith stared long and hard at Tony before releasing him. "Five minutes," he said, backing up and reaching for his duffel. "Ask me anything, I'll try to answer. It's a one-time offer, so don't waste your chance."

No answer could satisfy him, but Tony had to ask anyway. "Why'd you do it?"

"Just following orders. It wasn't personal."

Like hell it wasn't. "What about the rest? Why make yourself so... so accommodating?" Thoughtful. The friend Tony hadn't known he'd needed. "Then in my cell you- Oh my god, I was right. You were saying goodbye. Why _do_ that?"

Smith pulled out some clothes and began arranging piles on his bunk. The task seemed to require a large amount of his attention. "There was going to be an escape. You were going to make it, I wouldn't have. There was no harm in letting you keep your fantasy; we were never supposed to see each other again."

_"My_ fantasy? They were your lies!"

"Yes, fantasy. Just who do you think sent you to Madripoor, and hired the Empire to snatch you, and gave us the blueprints and equipment you'd need? Why do you think I waited until after you'd given your important presentation to make my move?"

"I don't know," Tony fired back. "Why did you.. why not sleep with me? It sure as hell wasn't out of professional conduct. Why not let me have one nice night on the town before scaring the shit out of me and shooting me with a fucking tranquilizer dart?" He didn't want to think about the other part, because Smith lied; all he did was lie and manipulate and everything he'd just said made a terrifying amount of sense.

_The client,_ Nine had said. _He._ And Tony would have run back home to Stane Enterprises as if nothing had changed.

Smith had run out of clothes to organize. He lined up his toiletries for use before gingerly reaching behind his neck and pulling his shirt off over his head. "This may come as a surprise, but I am capable of decency when it doesn't interfere with my work. Dinner would have been nice -- we should take another shot at it now that we're both playing for the same side -- but it was better to tranq you on an empty stomach."

"Nice bruises," Tony sneered. Smith's left side bore a patchwork of purple and blue. _Hope it hurt like hell when I rammed you._

"If it had been up to me, I would have handled things different. It was Drake's op. Half the reason he ran it the way he did was because he had it in for me. Couldn't pass up his chance to get revenge knowing I couldn't fight back."

"Malta," Tony remembered. "What did you do?"

Come to think, the shirt was the days-old one Smith had been wearing the evening of the kidnapping. No wonder he balled it up and threw it on the floor like he'd rather burn it than wash it. "Follow orders. Drake blamed me for letting SHIELD capture his brother."

SHIELD, huh? The name of a group that locked up members of the Secret Empire was worth remembering.

"And now with Drake out of the way, you have the power you've always wanted. I'd say congratulations, but-" _I hate you too._ "-you should be thanking me."

Smith sat on the clear bunk to pry off his shoes. "Power's a means to an end. I'm not in it for that."

"Then why are you?"

"Same as you. An opportunity presented itself."

"I was kidnapped and forced to work against my will-"

"Yet you were more than eager to join up."

"When I thought I was buying your worthless goddamned life," Tony growled.

Smith stood. "You're in whether you like it or not. Get used to it. You may even find some benefit to playing along like a good little drone."

"What benefits? The Empire's not about to let me walk, and I'm not taking their dirty money."

Smith raised an eyebrow, and trailed his hand down his abdomen until his fingers were brushing the button of his fly.

"Ha! I wouldn't fuck you if it would save both our lives."

"Good thing it will never come to that." Smith dropped the act in a flash, shedding his pants in a thoroughly businesslike manner. "I'm taking a shower, then it's your turn."

A shower did sound amazing. Regrettably, so was next-to-naked Smith. The man's muscles had muscles, and Tony's mouth went dry when he made the mistake of noticing the trail of blond hair leading down from Smith's navel.

Smith remained unselfconscious. "Oh, and one of those benefits you're about to enjoy is not being chained to a bunk while I'm gone."

"How indulgent."

"Stay put. It's for your own good." Smith gathered his toiletries. "Recruit or no, you'll still be shot if you're caught doing anything suspicious."

 

~~~~~

 

Tony waited five seconds after Smith's departure to ransack the room.

He was aware that it was quite possibly a test; but when several minutes passed without someone barging in and threatening to shoot him, he began to relax. Smith might have been telling the truth about a lack of surveillance.

That was the extent of the good news. Smith hadn't left a single phone, computer, tablet, radio -- or any other electronic device that could conceivably be modified for communications. Tony could always whip up a radio from parts in the workroom, but even if he had a safe place to use it, there was still the large risk his signal would be intercepted by the Empire instead of someone who could help him.

He needed a closed channel. Cellular would be ideal, but telecom wasn't his specialty. Without access to specs or pre-existing hardware, it could be a while before he could manage a hack -- which was just as good because he needed to figure out what to say to make someone believe his story.

Smith returned with damp hair, wearing only a towel. One look at his belongings and somehow he _knew,_ despite Tony having taken care to put things back pretty much the way he'd found them.

"I, um-" Tony was only half flustered at being caught.

"Well, you didn't try to stab me on my way in. Either you're smarter than you look or you failed to find the knives."

_Knives, plural?_ "I'll search harder next time," Tony said. "Unless you're fucking with me. Are you fucking with me? I'm not completely sure what the test here was supposed to be."

"Shower's the third door on the right. Don't leave this passageway. Don't speak to anyone you encounter if you know what's good for you."

Don't leave the passageway... like that wasn't another test. Tony crept to the end of the hall, peered around the corner, and sure enough there was a guard standing not five feet away. The woman acknowledged Tony with the single most threatening smile he'd ever seen.

"I, uh-" Maybe the moratorium on speaking to anyone wasn't such a bad idea. Tony shut up, returned a forced smile, and retreated.

The shower was simultaneously the best and worst he'd ever had. Water pressure and space were limited; the third time he banged an elbow he understood why Smith had stripped beforehand. The door did have a lock, but tempting as it was he couldn't see any use in barricading himself in.

It was strange to have his own toothbrush and razor, shampoo and deodorant -- familiar things from home that only made his fucked-up situation feel that much more surreal. It was worse when he returned to Smith's empty cabin and shimmied into his favorite jeans and Black Sabbath t-shirt.

He was sitting on a bunk, stalled in the process of putting on his shoes when Smith returned. It was a simple task, one a functional adult should be able to accomplish on autopilot, yet the missing shoelaces had served as a glaring reminder that every portion of Tony's life was now subject to outside interference.

"I brought food," Smith said unnecessarily. "Something wrong?"

_Everything._

"No," Tony mumbled.

It took Smith a few seconds to reach some decision. Expression softening, he offered the meal tray in trade. "Give them here. I think we're passed the risk of you-"

"Hurting myself?"

"-trying to garrote someone."

While Tony picked at the food, Smith removed the laces from a pair of his boots and used them to fix Tony's shoes. He didn't thread them right, and they were the wrong color, and too long until he hacked the ends off with a knife he pulled out of nowhere. Then he presented the result to Tony with a vague hopefulness, as if he still had something to gain from playing _nice_.

It required almost more willpower than Tony possessed not to dump the tray in Smith's lap.

That night, he was puzzled to find that, even though the cabin could accommodate four, he only had to share with Smith.

Like that wasn't bad enough.

He would have preferred being pawned off on some random guard, even the woman with the bloodcurdling smile. Drake sure as hell hadn't felt the need to personally babysit Tony when he'd been in charge. There was probably a reason Tony had been forbidden contact with other Empire members since the sabotage-slash-shooting incident. Question was, what was Smith trying to achieve by keeping Tony close and the rest of the crew distant?

He squirmed on the narrow, uncomfortable bunk. Okay, the workroom pallet had been uncomfortable too, but he hadn't minded curling up with Smith because he'd felt cared-for, protected. Now, being locked in a tiny, pitch-black cabin with the same man was the opposite of safe. It was hard not to think about how little space separated the bunks, how Smith could reach out and touch him and Tony wouldn't see it coming.

"Trouble sleeping?" Smith's voice, rising out of the darkness, was almost as unsettling as his hand would have been. "You should be exhausted."

"I am," Tony snapped, "but I saw a man die today, and I lost the only thing that was helping to make this whole fucked up mess bearable. So excuse me for not wanting to face my nightmares tonight, dicksmack."

He instantly regretted both going too far and being too honest. Every time he lost his cool he was just handing ammunition to the enemy.

After a moment, Smith said, "Noted," and didn't bother Tony again.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony spent the next day back in the workshop, completing a second prototype. It wasn't difficult, now that he knew what he was doing, and took less time without the built-in pyrotechnics.

The door to the hold remained open thanks to Smith's presence. While Tony worked, he met with various members of the organization, planning an operation to shift "merchandise". None of the people he spoke to seemed to outrank him, and he wasn't concerned that Tony could overhear most of what was said.

"Done," Tony informed Smith after the most recent visitor's departure. He hadn't even tested the device, just sealed it up and put it on the table.

"Already?"

Tony shrugged. "Now what?" He was certain they were still being watched, though he'd received no further messages via the computer terminal.

"How does dinner sound?"

"Not hungry."

"You're due a break. You've been at this for hours."

How would Smith react to receiving demands from his recruit in front of an audience? "Either find something else for me to do or take me back to the cabin."

Smith's gaze flicked around the room, touching the hidden cameras, but he remained suspiciously affable. "All right, repair project. Grab some tools and come with me."

"Be more specific if you want me to bring the right tools," Tony pressed.

"All I know is that one of the water pumps is acting up."

Tony dumped out one of the smaller storage bins before filling it back up again. "It didn't occur to you to ask if I know anything about water pumps?"

Smith put his hands on his hips, the pose still one of lenience. "Know anything about water pumps?"

"Plenty, as it happens." On cars, but if these idiots were going to let him play with marine machinery, Tony wasn't about to argue. He shoved the makeshift toolbox at Smith to carry, and wasn't surprised when Smith accepted it without comment.

Tony's strict avoidance of a certain recently mopped patch of floor hadn't received comment, either.

Located two decks down, the pump was squeezed into a maintenance passageway that ran along one of the bulkheads. It was a miserable place to work -- humid and hot, with stale air and constant vibrations from the nearby engineroom -- but Tony would bet there were no cameras. So long as Smith was cramped and miserable along with him, he saw no point in rushing the job.

The very first thing he noticed was leakage around one of the seals. He pointed, "I bet that's your problem."

"Can you fix it?"

Tony leaned in to be heard above all the background noise. The move also allowed him to appreciate Smith's myriad cuts and bruises up close. "Doesn't the ship have engineers or maintenance staff who are paid to do this kind of thing?"

"Sure, there's Seng. But he brought the job to Madam, and Madam brought it to me, so here we are."

"Great. What did she do, send out a general call for work to keep the new recruit busy? Am I going to be doing tech support next? Maybe someone has a VCR they'd like me to program."

"It's not like that. Seng is used to preferential treatment. He was Drake's friend." Smith stopped there, giving Tony an expectant look as if there was more he wanted Tony to reason through on his own.

_Fine, I will._

"If you're the new Drake, you have the power to make this Seng guy miserable, and he knows it. But you know-" _From experience._ "-that pissing off your engineer is a bad idea, because properly motivated they can make your life hell. So you do him a couple favors, show him you're not interested in screwing up the status quo."

Smith teetered on the brink of a smile. "Correct."

"Why the pop quiz on power dynamics?"

"There are things you should know if you're going to survive the Secret Empire."

Interesting choice of words there. Not _in_ , just survive, period. Was that his oh so subtle way of letting Tony know that he knew that Tony's dedication to the cause only extended as far as the first opportunity to escape?

Smith couldn't possibly regard Tony as his goddamned protege... could he? Was that where he was headed with the fake decency and sympathy routine?

Speaking of power dynamics and the status quo... "That's nice." Tony jabbed Smith in the chest with a wrench, right where it should be good and tender. "Take this and put those muscles of yours to work. I need those two cutoff valves closed, then you can start on this ring of bolts."

Smith took the wrench all right, by closing his fist over Tony's hand -- not hard enough to hurt, but more than hard enough to prevent Tony from pulling free. "I know what you're doing."

"Trying to fix a water pump?"

"It won't work."

"That's what broken mea-"

"I won't be provoked," Smith said. Same even tone, same firm grasp on Tony's hand.

Tony tried to extricate himself again but only succeeded in dropping the wrench. "Why not? Afraid you'll accidentally be honest with me for once?"

"You trusted me to protect you; I kidnapped you, and now you're my hostage." Smith tightened his grip briefly for emphasis before letting go. "What more could we possibly have to be honest about, Tony?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Tony snapped.

Smith bent to retrieve the wrench but paused just shy of touching it. "Nothing," he said to the floor. When he straightened again he turned straight for the first cutoff valve, avoiding even glancing in Tony's direction.

 

~~~~~

 

The next morning, Tony returned from his shower to find breakfast and coffee -- trust Smith to remember and fix it just the way he liked it -- plus a laptop waiting on his bunk. "What's this?"

"Your next project, in theory."

"Oh my god, I wasn't serious about doing tech support. And before you ask, no, I can't make it run whatever shitty game you want. This thing is ancient."

Smith motioned with a half eaten piece of toast, "Go on, open it."

At least someone had had the sense to load a real operating system on the monstrosity. It seemed to be a fresh install, but the desktop background image had been changed to a screencap from a security camera. In it, Madam Nine was speaking to a man in uniform. She was touching his arm flatteringly, while he was motioning to himself in the midst of some animated exchange.

"All right, I give. What the hell am I looking at, and why?"

"A warning," Smith said, "in case you get any bright ideas. That gentleman is the local chief of police, visiting the ship to collect his monthly bribe."

Another odd choice of words. Why a warning, why bother with a photo? What other lesson was Tony supposed to take from this?

"They look cozy. Is that why he visits in person instead of sending a minion?"

Smith nodded. He wasn't stupid. He had to know that all he'd done was warn Tony not to run to the cops if- when he escaped.

Wait, there was something else. The security image was timestamped two days prior.

Local chief of police.

_Nobody operating from a ship bribes cops long-term unless they're protecting land-based interests. We have to be docked somewhere with easy access to the mainland, and it was no coincidence that Smith staged the kidnapping near the bay._

Tony knew where he was. All he had to do was get off the ship, make it through Lowtown, find someplace safe to go for help. Even if he somehow recovered his identification and passport, he couldn't risk the airport with the police involved and two million dollars riding on his head. The embassy would be ideal, or maybe a hospital...

"Anthony?" Smith sounded insistent, probably having tried more than once to get his attention.

"Hm?"

"I said, don't bother trying to connect out. I found you a machine without a wireless adapter."

"That would explain the age and general terribleness."

Smith raised an eyebrow at Tony, the gesture at odds with his otherwise cool expression. "I'll be sure to tell Madam how much you appreciate her reward. Your renewed progress and cooperation have been deemed... satisfactory. That had better not change."

"Terribleness? I meant, uh, heft." Tony lifted the laptop up and down as if testing it. "Real sturdy. They don't make 'em like this anymore."

"It's what's inside that counts. I think you'll find the contents inspiring."

Tony began browsing the file system. What he was looking for wasn't hidden at all, a directory named STARK INDUSTRIES that was crammed full of files. He opened a few, then a few more as he sat up straighter and flipped through the lot for confirmation.

_Holy shit._

"I'll be away most of the day-"

"Where did you get these?" Tony demanded. It wasn't just the unedited blueprints for the gravitic reversion drive. There were more than a dozen projects, hundreds of files, representing years' worth of work. All Howard's, he'd bet, _predating_ the corporate takeover.

"We have our sources," Smith said.

"No, you don't understand. This is shit dad had tied up in the company. He agreed to abandon it as part of the-"

The settlement, a copy of which Tony had found in Howard's effects. This was industrial espionage. SE legally owned these projects and related patents.

Tony had been employed by SE. He still might be, technically, unless he'd been fired for being _kidnapped_ and forced to work on his employer's own intellectual property.

"What the fuck."

Smith said, "Export controls."

"What?"

"If you'd developed the technology for Stane Enterprises as part of your regular job, it would have been subject to US export controls."

"That son of a bitch needed me to develop it in secret so he could funnel it through a foreign dummy company -- sell it anywhere, to anyone he wanted." The prospect of controlling the tech and every last penny of the profits had been worth destroying Tony's life -- not to mention the million dollars Nine claimed had been owed for services rendered.

Who else tied to the company besides President Stane had that much cash just lying around in what were probably untraceable offshore accounts? The man was already filthy rich.

Tony's face must have given away his thoughts. "Sometimes money isn't the end, it's just a means of keeping score," Smith said, like it was a damned consolation. "Are you going to-"

"How does the Secret Empire keep score?" Tony asked quietly.

Setting the remains of breakfast aside, Smith retrieved his shoulder holster -- empty, his guns were kept elsewhere -- from a coat hook and strapped it on. "Drake would have been the one to ask. I'm more of a pragmatist; he was the believer. Shame he made the mistake of letting a personal vendetta overshadow his work."

No, Drake's mistake had been _failing_ because he'd put a vendetta before his work. Tony didn't intend to fail.

When Smith was finished, he lined himself up square in front of Tony, ready for inspection. "As I was saying, I'll be gone most of the day."

Oh right, the operation he'd been discussing the day before in the workroom, something about transporting merchandise from one ship to another. It hadn't sounded dangerous, but the holster suggested otherwise.

"You'll stay here. There will be a guard posted outside to bring you meals and escort you on breaks. Behave, if you know what's good for you." In other words, Smith wouldn't be present to shield Tony from the immediate consequences of anything he might try.

A small, chilling fear surfaced: what if something went wrong and Smith didn't return? Yes, he was a mercenary and a manipulative bastard, but he was also a known entity who hadn't shown the slightest inclination toward cruelty. Tony appreciated that his position could be much worse.

_Don't get your dumb ass killed and leave me hanging out to dry,_ he didn't say. Nor did he flinch when Smith awkwardly reached to touch Tony's shoulder for reassurance before nodding and striding for the door.

 

~~~~~

 

Tony waited a half hour after Smith's departure to poke his head outside the cabin. Sure enough, there was an unfamiliar guard slouched in a folding chair. He didn't acknowledge Tony at all, just kept tapping away at his phone.

No overt threats, so far so good.

"Hi," Tony tried.

No response. The tapping didn't even slow.

Before stepping into the hall, Tony tested the door handle to make sure he wasn't about to lock himself out. "Hello? I don't think we've met."

Nope, still nothing.

"I'm new. Stark, Tony Stark. You may have heard about the whole- You know what? Never mind. I can see that you're busy." He began to edge around the chair. "There's really no need for you to get up, I can find the bathroom on my o-"

The guard kicked a leg, out bracing his boot sole against the opposite wall to block Tony's path. "I know who you are."

"Ah."

The tapping stopped, and the guard chose that moment to finally look at Tony. "We all know who you are. That means you have no friends here."

_There's Smith,_ was not the correct answer, despite being the first one that sprang to mind. Smith had made himself Tony's _handler_ for purposes unknown. More to the point, he'd left the ship _,_ a technicality which seemed relevant.

Tony decided on, "I haven't had a chance to make any friends. You're the first person I've even been allowed to talk to since-"

"You won't be here long enough to make friends."

"Excuse me?"

Now the guard perked up, taking pleasure in being the breaker of bad news. "Oh, he hasn't told you? Scuttlebutt is, you're being transferred."

Tony couldn't help taking the bait. It was too important that he know. "Transferred where? When?"

"Don't know, don't care. I just know that your days of being coddled by Lieutenant Asslicker," he jerked his head toward Smith's cabin, "are numbered, so enjoy it while you can, shitbird."

"Thanks, I will." Tony was tempted to relay this little incident the next time he saw Smith. Stir up some trouble. But that seemed to be what the guard expected, or even wanted.

_Power dynamics,_ Tony remembered. _Aw, did Reggie hurt your feelings leaving you behind to babysit? Well fuck you, you're not using me to get back at him._

"Did you want something or is this just an exercise in wasting my time, _friend?"_

So much for trying to get out on deck for some fresh air and reconnaissance. "I'm good for now," Tony said. "When I need you I'll let you know."

He returned to the stash of project files. It had been a ploy when he'd told Nine he wanted to continue his father's work; but the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he might find his answer somewhere in this mess.

It had to happen soon.

The Empire appeared to be a lot larger than one crew and one ship. Nine had mentioned a council. Tony could be bound for a whole other continent. He was probably headed for a tech facility of some kind, where his work might be supervised by someone with more than half a fucking clue. Another bluff would be out of the question.

The guard was right about one thing. Smith was... permissive with Tony in ways no one else in the Empire was likely to be. Tony should exploit that while he had the chance.

What he needed was to engineer a way off the fucking boat. If he went big and loud, he could expose the Empire to a lot of unwanted attention, maybe break some of their toys in the process. Get more than the police involved. Fire and rescue, port authority, the media -- especially the media. Let help come to him.

Destruction was easy. Keeping himself alive through the ensuing chaos, not so much.

Okay, new angle: stealth.

Tony was buried in a pile of handwritten notes when Smith returned that night, so flush with ideas that he missed hearing the cabin door open. Then Smith was standing before Tony's bunk, blocking Tony's light and and making himself difficult to ignore. Tony was about to tell him to stop looming when he looked up and realized Smith was doing nothing of the kind. He _was_ waiting for Tony to notice him, but patiently, in the very same spot where he'd stood for his pre-departure inspection.

_He was gone longer than he expected_. It was late, and Tony might have been on edge these past couple hours if he hadn't been absorbed in half-assed energy calculations. He found himself checking Smith's face for new damage, quashing a prickle of delayed concern.

The attention put Smith at ease somehow. He didn't seem to be hurt, just tired. Fed up, perhaps.

"Rough day?" Tony asked, curiosity edging out sarcasm.

"Yes. Nothing I couldn't handle, though." Smith picked up a stray piece of paper that was filled with graphs and a few scribbles. "Looks like your day was productive."

"Yes and no." Tony shuffled everything aside to get up and stretch. He'd about reached the end of what he could do without more precise figures or a practical test. "I know you just got back, but could you take me for a walk, maybe up on deck? I'd kill for some fresh air."

"All right."

"Really?"

"You have been cooped up a for while," Smith granted.

"Almost a week." It only felt like a hell of a lot longer.

"Just promise me you won't jump overboard."

Bam, there it was, his opening. Tony knew he wouldn't be able to pull off guileless, so he played skeptical instead. "Why, would I break my neck going in? We can't be that high up."

"Oh, you'd survive the fall." Smith shucked his holster and hung it back on its peg. "It's forty, maybe fifty feet from the upper deck to the waterline. Depending on how strong a swimmer you are, you might even find a way onto the pier -- in the dark -- before you drown."

"Okay, I get-"

"The thing about piers is that they have a natural chokepoint. You'd be recaptured easily, and then punished. Creatively."

This was like the police chief thing, more than a simple warning. Another page from the Roger Smith Handbook of How Not to Get Your Dumb Ass Caught Escaping. "So you're saying that jumping is a bad idea," Tony deadpanned.

"Yes."

Correction. Trying to swim for it was the bad idea. "I'd like to see you come up with a better one."

The way Smith crossed his arms made several veins stand out distractingly against muscle.

_That can't be intentional... can it?_

"Nice try, Anthony."

"Seriously though, I want to talk to you about something."

"I'm listening."

"We can do it while we walk."

"You sure?" Smith scratched his ear. His meaning was clear: we could be overheard.

Tony said, "It's fine." He hadn't appreciated before just how _good_ Smith was at dropping hints without doing or saying anything that could jeopardize his position or call his loyalty into question. Even if Tony had wanted to sell Smith out, he didn't have a single scrap of ammunition to use against the man. There could be no better instructor in the art of surviving the Empire.

_So what does he gain from the arrangement? He certainly isn't doing it out of the goodness of his fucking heart._

Smith led them through the ship, up a narrow flight of stairs, and out onto a covered walkway that was almost like a balcony. Tony didn't know what to call it, nor did he care just then to examine where he was in relation to water, pier, shore, or other ships. The wind tasted of salted diesel fumes, and he couldn't get enough of it.

He leaned against the rail and closed his eyes. After a moment, he felt something brush his elbow. Smith had joined him, standing to Tony's left as he had once before, to stare out over a sleepy city. The morning of the presentation felt like a distant memory.

What had Smith been thinking about then, the pleasantness of the moment or the despicable task ahead? What was running through his brain now?

It occurred to Tony that this could be another "pleasant" interlude before a coming storm. He asked, "When will I be transferred?"

"You heard about that?" Smith said after a moment.

_Why the hell else would I bring it up, asshat?_ Tony was behaving for the potential cameras, though, so he kept his mouth shut and kicked at Smith's ankle instead.

Smith sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. "I don't know. You've become a piece in a power struggle. Madam Nine would like to... secure her investment before turning you over, but she's facing opposition in the Council."

"Oh?" Circumstances were even better than Tony could have hoped. "You can tell Nine-"

"You will refer to her as _Madam_ ," Smith corrected.

"Fine. Please inform _Madam_ that I would like to pursue something I found in my father's project notes."

Smith pushed away from the rail and straightened, rolling tension or soreness out of his shoulders with a quiet grunt. That was how Tony knew he had the bastard, that lack of immediate response coupled with a delaying tactic. He probably resented being confronted with the request on camera, and was selecting his words with care.

"Very well," Smith decided at last. "Write up your proposal-"

  
"There is no need," Nine's voice interrupted. The source was a speaker above their heads, the ship's PA system. "You two, my cabin. Now."

Smith spoke up, "Yes, Madam." He shifted closer to Tony and murmured, "For both our sakes, I hope you're prepared."

"Sure, let me just run back to the cabin and fetch the slideshow that I didn't make because I wasn't aware I was going to need one."

"A summons is a serious matter."

"No, really?" Tony was about to make an impromptu presentation before a critical audience of one -- who literally held the power of life and death over him. "I'm fine, let's get this over with."

Nine's cabin was in a different area of the ship, a section extending above the main deck that also housed the bridge. Following on Smith's heels, Tony tried not to be too obvious about updating his mental map of the ship and its orientation to pier and land. He still didn't know how to reach the nearest exit from his workroom below deck, but that seemed like a trivial problem now that he knew how far and in what direction he would need to fly to reach safety.

He could do a mile, easy. All he needed was enough power to drive the prototype so that it could support his weight, and something to use for propulsion. Steering was optional; landing he'd figure out when the time came.

Smith didn't knock when they arrived at Nine's door. He did give Tony one last glare, equal parts suspicion and warning. Then he drew himself up straight, heels together and hands in loose fists at his sides -- posing for the camera. No, cameras. There were at least three, capturing the approach to the cabin from multiple angles.

"Enter." Nine's voice issued from yet another speaker.

The cabin was far more utilitarian than Tony had expected. Same bare metal walls prevalent throughout the ship, but dominated by a dual bank of computer monitors -- all of which were set to the same screensaver of a spinning nine-pointed star.

Honestly, there were public businesses that could take lessons in branding from these Secret Empire guys.

Nine herself was seated in an oversized executive-style chair -- maroon of course, to match her sleeveless jumpsuit. The addition of tall laced boots and fingerless gloves was what elevated the whole ensemble from ridiculous to more than a little intimidating.

Smith began, "Madam-"

She waved him off, focusing on Tony. "Do I frighten you?"

Nobody who smiled like that wanted the truth. The truth was boring. Tony wet his lips. "Madam, I saw the look on Drake's face when he died. I'm afraid of what will happen if I disappoint you."

"As you should be," Nine nodded. "For his prior service, Drake will have a proper burial. If you attempt to thwart me again, there will be no body to bury. So, what do you propose?"

He knew it was irrational, but Tony still took reassurance from Smith's solid presence at his back. "The prototype, the gravitic reversion drive... I believe I've found a way to convert it into a propulsion unit."

"What use would that be?"

"It would run on electricity instead of liquid or solid fuel, and it would function in zero atmosphere." That much was even true. "Suitable for satellites, or-"

"What use would it be _to me?"_

Tony said, "You could sell it."

Nine's gaze flicked over Tony's shoulder; it took willpower not to look with her. "What is my lieutenant's assessment?"

"Aerospace?" Smith's voice alone was impossible to read. "Limited market, difficult to break into without contacts."

Damn it, no. He was going to ruin everything. Tony spun around. "Not as limited as it was even twenty years ago. A lot of the industry has been privatized."

"We'd be poison, an unknown entity with an untried product."

"A finished product would need to stand on reputation, but you'd- _we'd_ be shopping a working idea. Let the buyer deal with refinements and testing and production costs."

"I'm not the one you need to convince," Smith said.

"Madam-"

"Enough." Nine rose from her seat. Her heeled boots put her almost at Tony's height; she caught him by the chin and held him immobile for study.

Speaking was a risk Tony wasn't willing to take. Even breathing might have unintended consequences.

"This one has an appetite," Nine pronounced at last. "Hunger he's just now recognizing." Her fingernail stroked Tony's cheek. "It is your responsibility to see that it finds the right outlet."

"Yes, Madam," Smith agreed.

She released Tony. "Request granted."

"Thank you, Madam." Was it too soon to talk practical details? "Ah, I'm going to need a few more supplies..."

"You are dismissed."

"Yes, Madam." Smith hauled Tony for the door. It wasn't until they'd descended to the deck that he shed his stony expression and began to thaw a little. "Sorry, I should have warned you. Never overstay your welcome in Madam's presence -- especially not after you get what you want."

_I did get what I want, no thanks to you._ Tony took to the rail again, on the side of the ship overlooking the pier. It was so close, maybe thirty feet down. No way he'd survive a fall intact. "What happens now?"

"Now? You tell me what you need and I get it for you. You work on whatever you can in the meantime."

"We're not going to have a problem?"

Smith returned blandly, "Why would we?"

"No reason," Tony said, filing the question away to ask again later, in private, where he might receive a real answer.

 

~~~~~

 

"GRD prototype. Lens (two) from a telescope (preferred) or magnifying glass, about three inches in diameter," Smith read. "Titanium or stainless steel cylinder, same diameter. Platinum or palladium wire, at least two feet..."

"Is there going to be a problem?"

Smith kept his eyes on the page. "Depends. Are you planning another stupid stunt? Because I worked too hard and sacrificed too much for my position to let you take me down with you."

"I'm not planning another stupid stunt," Tony said. One, it wasn't stupid. And two, the planning phase was already complete.

"Canvas tie-down straps."

"Safety first. The prototype needs to be secured for testing." More importantly, Tony would need a harness to secure himself to the prototype.

Smith raised an eyebrow. "Welding equipment."

"What, afraid I'll weld the door shut?" He had considered that.

"Or turn it into a bomb, or a flamethrower."

Tony had considered that, too. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm invested in this whole staying alive thing. Playing with pressurized, flammable gas would be the exact opposite of self-preservation."

They were in their cabin, Tony post-shower and Smith post-morning workout, still dressed in an alarmingly tight maroon t-shirt and grey sweats. Tony half hoped that his bruises were still bothering him. Tony also hoped that Smith had put himself in a decent mood through some combination of running the deck, climbing the same stairwell over and over and over, and maybe punching the shit out of something that didn't fight back.

"Well?" Was he going to get his supplies without an argument, or was Smith determined to nitpick the whole list?

Smith folded the piece of paper. "I can get you this stuff."

"Today?"

"Don't push it."

Nevertheless, the supplies began trickling into Tony's workroom in the early afternoon. Luckily, he'd had most of the necessary parts on hand to begin constructing what would be the core of his power source: a genuine goddamned magnetically-confined fusion reactor.

Wasn't that a hell of a thing? Dear old dad had sketched out the basic design and supporting math, but that was as far as he'd taken it. Maybe he'd been daunted by a levelized cost estimated to be double that of nuclear energy. Maybe he'd been stuck in a rut of industrial-sized thinking. Either way, advances in modern microcontrollers allowed for miniaturization, which in turn solved a thermal problem that would have limited material choices, which led to a smaller and more efficient cooling element, which further decreased the unit size... and coincidentally reduced production cost to a pittance.

Tony was accustomed to working in bits and pieces, and here he was synthesizing an entire closed system. It made for a ridiculously complex balancing act, yet it wasn't _difficult_. It was so not difficult that he suspected he must be making every amateurish mistake in the book. Where he should be overwhelmed, he found that he was able to visualize the interdependencies that knit the system together. It meant that he rarely dropped his place, never forgot what he was doing with a particular step, or why.

There was a lot of counting, though. So much counting, especially when he began assembling the ten identical electromagnetic coils in assembly-line fashion. He created little numbered piles and tallied hash marks on the back of his hand, once almost adding a stroke with the soldering iron he was holding instead of the usual sharpie.

Smith's presence all day in the hold was like background noise, lulling and easily ignored. There was little traffic, no meetings or ops planning; the minions he'd assigned to procurement duty were more than happy to dump their hauls and leave with barely a word exchanged. Tony didn't see the guard from the day before, but he hadn't been paying close attention and might have missed the guy.

The platinum wire arrived just before supper. Tony let his food sit cold for the next hour while he hunched over his bench with a pair of loupes and the trusty soldering iron. The reactor slowly came together, a real hack job of rough edges and crooked seams. It didn't need to be pretty, just solid and stable -- and not even that stable. He estimated that it would only need to hold up under full load for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops.

"Anthony?"

"Mm." One coil left, then the support cap, then the reactor would be ready for testing... provided Tony was brave enough to prime the thing by hand.

"Anthony."

Tony flapped his arm behind him, in the general direction where he last recalled seeing Smith. "Not now."

_"Anthony."_

_"Go away I'm almost done."_

Smith leaned over Tony's shoulder and tried to divest him of the soldering iron. "Your _almost_ could be another three hours. Come on, you can pick it back up in the morning."

"Nnngh!" Tony slapped at the offending hand. "Half an hour. I won't be able to sleep until I know if- until it's finished. And if I'm not able to sleep, I'll make sure that you can't, either."

"Half an hour," Smith relented. "Whether you're done or not. Then you're going to eat something, and I'm going to take you to the deck for some fresh air."

"Deal. Now move. You're making a shadow all over my stuff."

Tony drove home the last screw with eight minutes to spare. He would have finished even sooner if Smith hadn't parked his ass at the end of the workbench to watch, checking the time every few minutes and making Tony want to throw something at his big, dumb, placid head.

"Okay." He sat back and pulled off his loupes. "Moment of truth."

"What is it?"

"What is it?" Tony repeated. Fuck, he'd had something impressive sounding that would stand up to a casual internet search. "It's a self-sustaining thermoelectric cooler -- or it will be once it's installed in the propulsion unit. Hand me that extension cord."

Smith pointed, "This?"

"Yup."

"This _former_ extension cord that you've hacked apart and spliced with god knows what-"

"Flyback transformer, and yes it's as dangerous as it looks. Don't try this at home, kids."

"Anthony..."

Tony held out his hand and made a grabbing motion. "Trust me, I have a piece of paper from an institute of higher learning that says I'm allowed to play with high voltage."

"If you electrocute yourself-"

"You have my permission to point and laugh -- preferably after I stop twitching."

"That's horrible," Smith frowned, but he did pass over the cord.

_No, horrible was watching a man be shot dead not five feet from here._ Tony connected the stripped end of the cord to the reactor lead. "Stand back."

Smith didn't just give himself distance, he backed out of the room entirely.

"Chicken," Tony muttered, and plugged in the cord.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the transformer exploded in a spray of sparks -- and Smith was storming in the door with a fire extinguisher in hand.

"No!" Tony yanked the plug again and threw himself in front of the reactor. "No, no, no, wait. I was expecting that." The question was, had it held out long enough?

"Expecting the _fire?"_ Smith had his finger curled through the extinguisher pin; it was a measure of his trust in Tony that he hadn't already doused the table in foam.

"There's no fire. Look." Tony shifted to let Smith see the reactor core cool from white hot incandescence to a blueish glow. "Look," he repeated in a whisper, "it's working."

_It's working. I did it. I'm going to fly the fuck out of here._

Smith lowered the extinguisher. "Is it supposed to do that?"

Tony picked up the reactor. It was emitting a faint hum, vibrations he could feel in his fingertips, almost like a pulse. He spun it slowly for examination. "Yes. It's perfect."

 

~~~~~


End file.
